UB  SERIES   No.  1 137 


iOVE 


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Alex  McVeigh  Miller,  and  other  writers  of  the  same  type,  is 
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ALL  TITLES  ALWAYS  IN  PRINT 

i — Queen  Bess By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

.    2 — Ruby's  Reward By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

7 — Two  Keys By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

p — The  Virginia  Heiress .By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

12 — Edrie's  Legacy By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

17 — Leslie's  Loyalty By  Charles  Garvice 

(His  Love  So  TrueJ 

22 — Elaine .By  Charles  Garvice 

24 — A   Wasted   Love **....*. ..By  Charles  Garvice 

fOn  Love's  Altar) 
41 — Her   Heart's   Desire. .; . « . «+  +, ........  By  Charles  Garvice 

(An  Innocent  Girl) 

44 — That  Dowdy   By  M^».  Georgie  Sheldon 

io— Her  Ransom By  Charles  Garvice 

(Paid  For) 

J5— Thrice    Wedded By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

66 — Whcb  Hazel By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

70 — Sydney    By  Charles  Garviee 

(A  Wilful  Young  Woman) 

73 — The  Marquis  V. By  Charles  Garvice 

•7 — Tina    , By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

79— Out  of  the  Past By  Charles  Garvice 

"   (Marjorie) 

u       «mogene By  Charles  Garvice 

"  J£t)i«nares<j's  Temptation) 

3 


NEW  EAGLE  SERIES. 


85— Lorrie;   or,  Hollow  Gold By  Charles  Garvice 

88—  Virgie's   Inheritance    By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

95— A  Wilful  Maid By  Charles  Garvice 

(Philippa) 
9&— Claire    By  Charles  Garvice 

(The  Mistress  of  Court  Regna) 

99 — Audrey's   Recompense    By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

202— Sweet  Cymbeline   By  Charles  Garvice 

(Bellmaire) 
109 — Signa's   Sweetheart   , By  Charles  Garvice 

(Lord  Delamere's  Bride) 

1 1 1— Faithful  Shirley  By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

117 — She  Loved  Him  ,. By  Charles  Garvice 

119 — 'Twixt  Smile  and  Tear By  Charles  Garvice 

(Dulcie) 

122 — Grazia's   Mistake    By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

130 — A  Passion  Flower . ... By  Charles  Garvice 

(Madge) 

133 — Max By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

136 — The  Unseen  Bridegroom .....By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

138 — A   Fatal   Wooing By  Laura  Jean  Libbey 

141 — Lady  Evelyn  By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

144 — Dorothy's  Jewels   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

146 — Magdalen's  Vow   By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

151 — The  Heiress  of  Glen  Gower.. By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

*55 — Nameless    Dell    By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

157 — Who   Wins    By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

166— The   Masked  Bridal   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

168 — Thrice  Lost,  Thrice  Won   By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

174 — His   Guardian  Angel By  Charles  Garvice 

177 — A  True  Aristocrat    By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

181 — The  Baronet's  Bride By  May  Agnes  Fleming 

188 — Dorothy  Arnold's  Escape   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

199 — Geoffrey's  Victory   By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

203 — Only   One   Love By    Charles    Garvice 

210 — Wild   Oats By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

213 — The  Heiress  of  Egremont By  Mrs.  Harriet  Lewis 

215 — Only  a  Girl's  Love By  Charles  Garvice 

219 — Lost :  A  Pearle By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

222 — The  Lily  of  Mordaunt By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

223 — Leola  Dale's  Fortune  By  Charles  Garvice 

231— The  Earl's  Heir By  Charles  Garvice 

(Lady  Norah) 

233 — Nora .By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sheldon 

236 — Her  Humble  Lover < By  Charles  Garvica 

(The  Usurper;  or,  The  Gipsy  Peer) 
842 — A  Wounded  Heart By  Charles  Garvicf 

(Sweet  as  a  Rose) 
244 — A  Hoiden's  Conquest By  Mrs.  Georgie  Sh 


Her    Priceless    Love; 


OR, 


BONNY  BiEiLlLF 


BY 

GERALDINE 

Author  of  "The  Battle  of  Hearts,"  "Sold  for  Gold," 
"Her  Dearest  Love." 


STREET   &   SMITH    CORPORATION 

PUBLISHERS 

79-89  Seventh  Avenue,  New  York 


r 

L 


Copyright,  10OT 
By  NORMAN  I*  MUNRO 

Her  Priceless  Lovo 


(Printed  In  the  United  State*  oC  Amertoa)] 


HER  PRICELESS  LOVE. 


CHAPTER  I, 

ALONE  "W    THE    STREETS. 

'I  he  weary  salesgirls  were  hurrying  out  of  the 
idly  darkening  store  of  Hardman  &  Son. 

It  was  after  ten  o'clock  at  night,  and  all  the  other 
stores  on  Sixth  Avenue  had  already  closed. 

Hardman  &  Son  were  always  last  to  release  their 
tired  workers,  as  if  determined  to  get  just  a  little  more 
than  they  paid  for  in  labor. 

And,  as  usual,  they  had  been  the  first  a  begin  the 
late  hours  of  the  Christmas  season,  so  that  this  night 
the  avenue  was  almost  deserted,  except  for  the  throngs 
that  poured  from  the  great  store, 

This  way  and  that  the  girls  hurried,  some  going  east. 
some  west,  some  north,  and  others  south. 

As  much  as  possible,  they  went  in  pairs;  for  when 
they  left  the  well-lighted  avenue  to  enter  the  gloomier' 
side  streets,  at  that  hour  of  the  night,  a  girl  naturally 
felt  timid  when  alone. 

You  could  see  those  who  were  not  fortunate  enough 
to  have  companions  wrap  their  outer  garments  more 
closely  about  them,  «and  pull  thick  veils  over  their  faces, 
while  they  half  ran  through  the  -streets. 

970373 


Alone  in  the  Streets. 

Many  of  the  girls  were  too  young  and  pretty  to  have 
been  out  alone  at  that  hour  of  the  night ;  but  what  help 
was  there  for  it  ?  Fathers,  mothers,  and  brothers  were 
all  hard  at  work,  too,  and  the  girls  must  take  care  of 
themselves. 

Among  the  last  to  leave  the  store  wras  one  who  did 
well,  indeed,  in  closely  veiling  her  face;  for  it  was  one 
to  tempt  an  anchorite  to  a  second  glance,  so  witching 
was  it  in  its  seductive  beauty. 

But  for  all  the  roguish  glances  of  the  dancing  brown 
eyes,  and  the  merry  play  of  dimples  about  the  rosebud 
lips,  there  was  nothing  coquettish  in  beautiful  Viola 
Redmond. 

She  knew  as  well  as  anybody  the  dangers  of  being  in 
the  streets  of  the  great  metropolis  at  night;  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  apprehension  in  the  radiant  face  as  she 
drew  the  thick  veil  over  it.  There  was  no  tremor  in 
the  softly  undulating  bosom,  as  she  buttoned  her  coat 
closely  about  her  perfect  form. 

She  looked  up  and  down  the  avenue  as  she  stepped 
over  the  threshold  to  the  pavement.  There  was  no  one 
to  keep  her  company,  so  quickly  had  the  tired  girls  hur- 
ried homeward. 

But  Viola  only  laughed  softly,  with  a  certain  subdued 
happiness,  and  started  uptown. 

"Wait  a  moment,  little  Viola;  I  am  going  your  way/3 
said  a  man's  voice  in  a  low,  wheedling  tone* 


Alone  in  the   Streets.  v 

Viola  recognized  the  voice,  and  shuddered  at  its 
sound. 

Her  immediate  impulse  was  to  accelerate  her  pace 
into  a  run.  Anything  to  get  away  from  Peter  Harriem, 
the  confidential  clerk  of  Hardman  &  Son. 

But  it  was  in  the  man's  power  to  have  her  dis- 
charged from  her  position.  She  restrained  her  impulse, 
and  turned  quickly  to  say  in  a  low  tone : 

"You  are  very  kind,  but — I  do  not  go  the  same  way 
as  you,  sir.  Thank  you,  just  the  same/' 

He  stepped  to  her  side,  and  kept  pace  with  her,  emit- 
ting a  low,  chuckling  laugh  as  he  did  so,  and  saying  in 
a  peculiarly  oily  tone : 

"Well,  it  won't  be  any  hardship  to  go  out  of  my  way 
a  little  to  walk  with  pretty  Viola  Redmond." 

He  touched  her  plump  arm  as  he  spoke,  as  if  he  in- 
tended to  walk  with  his  hand  on  her  elbow. 

She  shuddered,  and  drew  away. 

She  could  see  the  long,  bony  hand,  which  always 
made  her  think  that  it  was  about  to  get  a  stealthy  clutch 
on  something.  She  could  not  bear  to  have  him  touch 
her. 

"Such  a  little  beauty  as  you  should  not  be  alone  in 
the  wicked  streets  so  late,"  he  said,  sidling  up  to  her 
again,  and  once  more  taking  her  elbow  in  his  hand. 

There  was  something  so  sleek  in  his  manner,  that 


8  Alone  in  the  Streets. 

iViola  had  the  feeling:  she  would  have  had  if  a  snake 
had  begun  to  coil  about  her. 

"Lean  walk  alone;  please,"  she1  said,  quickening  her 
pace. 

"What  a  coy  little  thing  it  is!"  he  murmured. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  there  was  a  threatening  note  in 
his  voice. 

She  thought  of  his  power,  and  of  the  sick  mother  at 
home. 

"I—  I  only  meant  that  —  that  I  am  used  to  walking 
alone,  and  that;  —  that  I  can  walk  faster  if  —  if  no  one 
assists  me/'  she  stammered. 

"Yes/'  said  her  companion,  in  a  musing  tone,  and  as 
if  continuing  a  thought  that  had  been  in  his  mind,  "it  is 
not  nice  for  such  beauties,  to  be  out  at  night.  But,  after 
all,  Viola,  it  is  a  great  deal  to  have  work  to  do  these 
hard  times,  isn't  it?" 

"Ye-es,  sir,"  she  stammered,  in  a  low.  tone.  "I  am 
sure  -I  am  grateful.;  I1—  I  do  not  mind  being  out.  It  is 
not  very  f^r  f  or  me,  and-^-and  I  can  hurry." 

He  was  close  to,  her  again,  and  although  he  did  not 
again  attempt  to  tpuch  the  rounded,  elbow,  he  touched 
her  shoulder  with  his.  She  bore  the  contact  shudder- 


.-••  ?Mr.,Hardnian/'  'he  went  on  cunningly,  "was  asking 
me  to-day  if  there  was  no  way  in  which  he  abuld  get  rid 


Alone  in  the  Streets.  9 

of  some  of  the  girls.  He  seemed  to  think  we  could'  do 
with  less  help." 

'/Everybody  seems  to  work  hard/'  she  ventured  to 
say. 

"Yes;  I  know  it,"  he  said,  in  a  sly,  stealthy  way,  that 
made  her  flesh  creep.  ,  "But  I  shall  have  to  send  a  few 
girls  away  just  to  please  him.  But  I  will  look  out  for 
yqu,  little  Viola.  You  shan't  be  one  of  the  unlucky 
ones." 

She  felt  his  hand  crawl,  so  to  speak,  along  her  arm 
and  rest  again  on  her  elbow.  She  knew;  that  he  \ya& 
making  that  liberty  the  price  of  her  being  kept  in  the 
store. 

Her  heart  throbbed  violently,  and  the  blood  leaped  to 
her  face.  Oh,  how  indignant  she  was!  Fiery  words 
were  on  her  tongue,  arid  she  -felt  an  angry  desire  to 
fling  his  hand  from  her. 

Then  there  rose  before  her  eyes  the  picture  of  the 
pain-furrowed  face  of  her  sick  mother,  and  she  smoth- 
ered her  anger,  and  let  him  walk  thus  by  her  side. 

But  she  felt  as  the  man  does  who  wakes  in  the  wood& 
after  a  s\veet,  refreshing  sleep,  to  find  a  deadly  snake 
passing  over  his  body.  To  protest  is  to  court  instant 
death.  ,  . 

She  permitted  Peter  Herriem-to  walk  by  her  .side, 
though  her  whole  nature  was  convulsed  with  fear  and 
loathing.  . 


io  Alone  in  the  Streets. 

"I  have  sometimes  thought  I  would  have  your  wages 
raised/'  he  murmured.  She  felt  as  if  the  snake  were 
hissing  in  her  ear.  "Would  you  like  that?" 

"If — if  I  could  earn  it,"  she  answered  faintly. 

He  chuckled. 

"Don't  you  think  you  earn  it  now?"  he  asked,  bend- 
ing over  her  arm  a  little. 

She  could  not  tell  why  he  frightened  her  so,  but  she 
could  not  answer,  so  great  was  the  effort  to  keep  from 
throwing  his  hand  off,  and  running  away  with  all  her 
speed. 

"But  it  doesn't  matter  whether  you  earn  it  or  not/' 
he  went  on,  his  voice  growing  lower  and  more  oily  with 
each  word,  while  his  hot  breath  was  perceptible  on  her 
cheek,  even  through  her  thick  veil.  "If  I  wish  to  raise 
your  wages,  I  can  do  so.  Shall  I  do  it,  my  pretty  one  ?" 

Her  breath  came  swiftly  as  she  listened,  and  the  in- 
creasing pressure  on  her  plump  arm  drove  her  into  a 
frantic  fear. 

She  could  not  answer.  She  did  not  know  what  she 
was  doing. 

She  was  aware  only  of  the  feeling  that  somehow  she 
must  get  him  away  from  her. 

She  stammered  an  incoherent  something  about  speak- 
ing to  her  mother  about  it,  and  broke  away,  running 
rapidly  down  a  side  street. 

She  ran  swiftly  and  with  a  palpitating  fear  of  some- 


Alone  in  the  Streets.  n 

thing  horrid  and  dreadful  which  she  could  not  under- 
stand. 

She  felt  as  if  she  had  been  contaminated  by  the  touch 
as  of  some  slimy  thing. 

She  ran  until  she  feared  to  attract  observation,  then 
stopped  with  beating  heart  and  listened ;  she  could  hear 
no  pursuing  footsteps. 

She  looked  back,  and  could  see  no  one  answering  to 
the  tall,  stooping  figure  and  shuffling  walk  of  the  confi- 
dential man  of  Hardman  &  Son. 

That  fact  made  her  breathe  more  freely,  but  the  fear 
of  what  she  had  experienced,  and  of  what  might  be  the 
result  on  the  morrow,  made  her  go  swiftly  but  trem- 
blingly on. 

But  presently  she  paused  and  looked  about  with  a 
start.  She  examined  the  houses  in  the  block  as  if 
looking  for  some  landmark. 

"I  was  so  frightened  I  almost  forgot,"  she  mur- 
mured, and  if  her  face  could  have  been  seen  it  would 
have  revealed  a  blush  of  sweet  consciousness. 

She  walked  more  leisurely  now,  and  as  she  neared  the 
corner  of  Seventh  Avenue  she  looked  eagerly  yet  fur- 
tively around. 

Then  under  cover  of  the  darkness  her  cheeks  took  on 
a  rosier  hue  still,  a  little  panting  murmur  of  joy  came 
from  between  her  parted  lips,  and  her  brown  eyes  were 
cast  demurely  down. 


12  Alone  in  the  Streets. 

One  would  have  thought  she  could  not  see  anything 
that  took  place.  But  it  would  have  been  a  mistake,  for 
she  did  see  a  man's  figure  start  from  the  shadow  of  a 
house  and  approach  her  with  quick,  eager  strides. 

"Is  it  you,  Viola?"  fell  on  her  ear  the  next  moment, 
and  the  rich,  baritone  voice  vibrated  in,  her  lieart  till  it 
was  .tremulous  with  a  sweet,  delight. 

"Is  it  you,  Mr.  Walter ?".she  answered  timidly. 

" Yes,  I  have  been  waiting  for  you.  I  cannot  bear  to 
have  you  walk  home  .alone  so  late.  I  may  go  with  you, 
mayn't  I?" 

"I  am  afraid  it  will  be  a  trouble  to  you/'  -she  mur- 
mured faintly. 

'"A  trouble!"  he  repeated  in  a  low,  reproachful  tone. 
"Oh,  you  know  better  than  that.  I  waited  for  you  be- 
cause there  is  nothing  else  I  care  so  much  for  as  a  walk 
with  you." 


CHAPTER  II. 

.,         LAW    FOR    TWO    HEARTS. 

'  They  walked  along  silently  for  a  while,  perhaps  be- 
cause they  were  too  happy  to  talk,  perhaps  because  what 
they  might  h&ve  to  say  could  be  said  -more  impressively 
in  some  more  secluded  street  than  Seventh  Avenue, 

People  turned  and  looked  at  them  as  they  passed. 
Nor  was  it  strange  that  they  should,  -for  the  two  made 
a  pretty  picture. 

He  had  the  lithe,  sinewy  frame  and  the  broad  shoul- 
ders of  an  athlete,  and  the  face  of  an  Apollo;  Besides, 
he  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  and  was 
plainly  a  swell. 

Her  veil  covered  her-  face  so  that  none  could  see  its 
"exquisite  beauty,  but  shabby  as  her  gown  and  coat  were, 
they  were  trim  and  jaunty,  and  revealed  a  form  so 
rounded  and  grace ftfl'that  it  was  easy  to  suspect  a  beau- 
ti  ful  face  behind  the  veil 

They  walked  together  as  if  they  had  forgotten  all 
the  rest  of  the  world.  His  hand,  unrebuked,  held  hers 
in  a  firm,  warm  grasp,  and  they  walked  in  step,  her 
plump  shoulder  snuggled  unconsciously  against  his  stal- 
;wart  arm. 

At  the  first  corner  he  led  her  into  the  quieter  side 


14  Law  for  Two  Hearts. 

street,  and  she  did  not  resist,  though  for  some  reason 
her  breath  came  a  little  quicker. 

"I  hate  that  noisy  avenue,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"It  is  better  than  the  quieter  streets  when  one  is 
alone/7  she  answered,  in  a  tone  as  low  as  his  own. 

"You  ought  not  be  alone  in  the  streets  at  night/'  he 
said  earnestly. 

"It  is  only  during  the  Christmas  shopping  season  that 
I  am  out  so  late/'  she  replied.  "Besides,  I  keep  on  the 
lighted  avenue,  and  no  one  is  likely  to  trouble  me." 

"But  it  is  better  for  you  to  have  some  one  with  you/' 
he  said.  "Are  you  glad  to  have  me  with  you?" 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then  she  answered 
in  a  voice  that  was  a  little  unsteady : 

"I — I  am  always  pleased  to  see  you,  Mr.  Walter. 
You  have  been  so  kind  to  me  ever  since  you  saved  me 
from  those  drunken  men.  But — but " 

"Well?"  he  asked  softly,  as  she  hesitated. 

"I — I  am  afraid  it  is  not  right  to  meet  you  in  this 
way.  You — you  know  that  your  father  would  be  angry 
if  he  knew." 

He  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Father  might  at  first/'  he  said.  "But  he  is  always 
willing  to  let  me  have  my  own  way." 

Viola  sighed,  then  turned  with  a  gesture  of  decision, 
and  said  quickly,  ?s  if  she  feared  to  give  herself  time 
for  hesitation : 


Law  for  Two  Hearts.  15 

"I  have  enjoyed  knowing  you  so  much,  Mr.  Walter, 
and  I  will  confess  that  I  have  looked  forward  to  meet- 
ing you.  But  I  know  it  cannot  be  best,  for  I  have 
not  dared  to  tell  mamma  about  it.  I  know  she  would 
say  that  I  must  not  do  it." 

"You  mean,"  he  exclaimed  reproachfully,  "that  I 
must  not  wait  for  you  to  take  you  home  these  nights 
that  you  are  out  so  late?" 

"I  —  I  think  it  is  the  only  way,"  she  faltered.     "Be- 


"Besides  what?"  he  demanded,  a  little  bitterly. 

"Besides,  I  cannot  —  dare  not  —  do  anything  that  will 
be  likely  to  cost  me  my  position  in  the  store.  If  your 
father  should  have  the  faintest  idea  of  our  meeting  he 
would  discharge  me.  And  if  I  were  to  lose  my  place 
now,  what  would  become  of  my  mother?  I  must  think 
of  her,  you  know." 

"If  I  were  only  in  the  store  it  would  not  be  so,"  he 
said  moodily.  "I  have  asked  him  to  let  me  be  a  mem- 
ber of  the  firm  in  reality  as  well  as  in  name.  But  he 
won't.  It  is  Hardman  &  Son,  but  he  won't  even  let  me 
learn  the  business.  If  he  should  die,  no  one  would 
know  anything  about  it  but  that  sneak,  Peter  Har- 
riem." 

Viola  shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  name,  and  Wal- 
ter noticed  it  at  once,  and  cried  out  with  keen  intui- 
tion: 


i6  Law  idt  Two  Hearts, 

"Has  that  snake  been  saying  anything  to  you, 
Viola?" 

Viola  feared  to  tell  the  young  man  what  had  oc- 
curred. 

"He — he  wished  to — to  walk  home  with  me  to- 
night," she  answered,  in  a  low  tone,  "but  I- told  him  I 
would  rather  go  alone." 

"Confound  his  impudence!"  said  Walter  Hardman 
angrily.  "How  dare  he  ?" 

Viola  did  not  speak,  nor  did  Walter  for  some  time, 
but  walked  by  her  side  in  moody  silence.  Suddenly  he 
broke  out:  -•*" 

"Viola, 'I  shan't  give  up  taking  you  home  these 
nights.  You  ought  not  ask  it." 

She  trembled  at  his  vehemence,  but  did  not  yield. 

"I  must  ask  it,"  she  said. 

"Only  because  you  are  afraid  of  losing  your  place?" 
he  asked. 

"Not  only  that,"  she  answered;  and  then  went  on  re- 
proachfully: "Oh,  Mr.  Walter!  it  is  not  like  you  to  be 
selfish.  Can't  you  see  that  it  may  put  me  in  a  false 
position?" 

"No,  I  can't.    How?"  he  retorted. 

"You  are  rich,  and  I  am  poor.  You  are  a  gentleman 
with  certain  prospects  in  life,  and  I  am  only  a  salesgirl 
in  your  father's  store.  If  we  were  seeai  together  there 
would  be  talk.  You  ought  not  make  me  tell  you  this." 


Law  for  Two  Hearts,  17 

''Somebody  has   told  you   that   I   am   engaged   to 
Eunice  Carroll?"  he  cried,  in  sharp,  angry  tones. 
"No," !  she  parted,  involuntarily:  drawing  away  from 

him.     "I  did  not  know  that.    Aristocratic  Eunice  Car- 

p 

roll!     I  .never  heard  that." 

"But  it  is  not  true,"  he  said  eagerly,  taking  his  place 
by  her  side  again.  "My  father  wishes  me  to  marry  her 
because  she  is  mad  on  the  subject  of  aristocratic  birth 
and  position.  Self-made  men  are  always  that  way." 

"It  is  another  reason  why  we  should  not  meet  again," 
Viola  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

She  tried  to  make  herself  believe  that  she  had  ex- 
pected something  of  the  sort  from  the  first;  but  there 
was  a  misery  in  her  heart  she  could  not  quell. 

But  Walter  would  not  accept  her  conclusion.  He 
bent  lower,  and  said  softly  in  her  ear : 

"Viola,  it  is  not  a  reason  for  not  meeting  again.  I 
care  nothing  for  her,  and  I  will  not  marry  her  to  please 
my  father.  I  shall  marry  where  my  heart  is  or  not  at 
all." 

"We  must  not  meet  again,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  she 
vainly  tried  to  keep  firm.  "I — I  will  say  good-night 
here.  There  is  my  house.  Good-night !" 

"No,"  he  said,  holding  her  gently.  "I  cannot  let  you 
go  now.  We  have  said  too  much  or  too  little ;  too  little, 
I  think.  Viola,  I  did  not  mean  to  speak  to  you  to-night! 
I — I  was  afraid  yon  \\vre  not  ready — = — " 


iS  Law  for   iwo  Hearts. 

"Mr.  Walter/'  panted  Viola,  in  a  sort  of  exquisite 
terror,  which  she  could  not  have  defined,  "I — I — it  is 
late.  Let  me  go!" 

"Not  until  I  have  told  you  that  I  love  you,  Viola.  I 
must  say  it,  dear.  I — I  know  that  you  are  not  ready  to 
hear  me  say  it.  But  I  cannot  let  you  go  after  what  has 
been  said  without  telling  you  that  I  love  you. 

"I  do  not  expect  you  to  love  me,  dear.  I  know  it  is 
sudden;  I  know  I  am  unworthy  of  you.  But  you  are 
sending  me  a\vay  from  you,  and  I  cannot  go  without  a 
word  of  hope.  Viola,  darling,  won't  you  try  to  love 
me?  You  don't  speak.  Is  there  some  other?  Oh, 
Viola!" 

They  were  in  a  deserted  part  of  the  street,  with  no 
one  likely  to  see  or  overhear  them. 

His  arm  had  crept  about  her  waist,  but  at  the  mis- 
erable thought  that  she  might  love  another,  he  drew  it 
away  and  caught  both  her  hands  in  his. 

She  held  her  head  averted,  and  did  not  answer.  If 
he  had  not  loved  her  so  ardently  he  might  have  known 
by  her  silence  and  by  her  quick  breathing  that  her  an- 
swer would  not  be  unfavorable. 

"Viola,"  he  cried  passionately,  "why  do  you  not  an- 
swer me?  It  is  true  we  have  known  each  other  but 
three  months.  But  I  loved  you  from  the  first,  and  have 
loved  you  better  and  better  all  ths  -Jme. 


Law  for  Two  Hearts.  10 

"All  my  thoughts  have  been  of  you.  I  have  dreamed 
of  you  at  night,  and  have  lived  through  the  days  on  the 
hope  of  meeting  you  at  night  when  you  went  home 
from  the  store. 

"My  heart  has  bled  for  you  as  you  toiled  so  hard, 
and  I  have  prayed  Heaven  that  you  would  love  me  so 
that  I  could  rescue  you  from  the  want  and  care  that 
oppress  you  by  making  you  my  wife. 

"Viola,  is  there  another  whom  you  love  better?  Is 
there  some  one  you  have  given  your  heart  to?  Is 
there?  Won't  you  answer  me  that,  dear?" 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  heart  was  too  full  for 
speech,  and  he  could  not  see  the  happiness  in  her  face. 

"There  is  no  one?"  he  cried.  "Then  may  I  hope  that 
by  and  by  you  will  learn  to  love  me?  Think,  dear,  of 
the  happiness  of  a  little  home  of  your  own,  where  you 
can  give  your  mother  all  the  care  and  attention  she 
needs.  Won't  you  give  me  one  word  of  hope,  Viola, 
dear?" 

His  arm  was  around  her  waist  again,  and  his  face 
was  close  to  hers. 

He  was  pleading  with  all  the  fervor  of  his.  soul, 
hardly  daring  to  hope,  and  yet  each  moment  filled  with 
an  increasing  thrill  of  joy. 

She  did  not  draw  away  from  him,  she  did  not  give 
a  sign  of  repugnanr- 


2O  Law  for  Two  Hearts. 

And  now -he  could  feel  the  trembling  of  the  hand  he  > 
held. 

He  uttered  a  passionate  cry  of  hope  and  happiness  as 
it  was  borne  in  upon  his  heart  that  she  was  silent  from 
acquiescence  and  shyness. 

"Viola,  my  love!"  he  cried,  pressing  her  to  his  heart 
"Do  I  read  your  silence  aright?  May  I  hope?" 

Her  head  fell  on  his  breast,  and  a  low  sob  broke 
from  her  lips. 

"Oh,  I  love  you,"  he  heard  her  say;  --but  how  can  it 
ever  be?  I  love  you,  but  we  must  part." 

It  seemed  almost  as  if  he  would  crush  her  in  the 
ecstasy  of  hisvjoy.  • 

He  snatched  the  envious  veil  away  from  her  beautiful 
face  and  rained  fervent  kisses  on  her  lips. 

"Part !"  he  cried.  Do  you  think  I  will  ever  let  yott 
go?  Never!  If  you  love  me,  nothing  can  keep  us 
apart.  I  will  never  give  you  up.  Promise  me,  Viola, 
that  you  will  never  be  persuaded  to  give  me  up.  What 
higher  law  than  love  is  there  for  two  hearts?  Promise 
me,  Viola!" 

"Your  father  ?"  she  murmured,  finding  it  easy  to 
yield  to  his  loving  vehemence. 

"My  father  will  make  a  fuss  at  first/'  he  replied  con- 
:  fidently.    "But  he  only  lives  to  make  me  happy.    I  am 
his  infatuation.    He  hoards  his  money  for  me  to  spend. 
He  will  do  as  I  wish,  never  fear." 


Law  for  Two  Hearts.  21 

/    I    :  .         )    .       (     '..".•• 

t;  he  is  proud  and  anxious  for  a  lofty  marriage 
for  you.  He  will  be  disappointed,"  said  Viola. 

Walter  laughed  as.  men  laugh  whose  happiness  has 
intoxicated  them  so  that  all  obstacles  seem  shadowy. 

""I  will  answer  for  my  'father.  Let  us  go  see  you? 
mother/;, 


CHAPTER     III. 

"COME    TO    MY    ARMS." 

Peter  Harriem,  meanwhile,  had  looked  after  the 
fleeing  form  of  the  beautiful  salesgirl,  a  scowl  of 
chagrin  on  his  face. 

It  was  humiliating  to  be  left  in  that  way,  just  as  he 
seemed  on  the  point  of  conquering. 

He  looked  for  a  moment  with  his  head  thrust  for- 
ward very  much  in  the  manner  of  a  snake  that  has 
struck  at  some  creature  which  has  escaped  just  in  time. 

Then  his  shoulders  drooped,  and  he  slunk  across  the 
street  to  the  opposite  side,  and  followed  Viola  as  she 
sped  down  the  pavement. 

He  seemed  fitted  by  nature  for  what  is  known  in  de- 
tective parlance  as  a  "shadow,"  for  he  seemed  to  know 
how  to  melt  his  attenuated  form  into  the  very  railings 
in  front  of  the  houses. 

He  could  not  have  told  why  he  followed  her. 

Probably  he  was  merely  doing  what  was  most  natural 
to  him. 

Craft,  and  guile,  and  subtlety  were  his  processes  al- 
ways. 

When  he  saw  Viola  joined  by  Walter  he  started,  and 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  showing  that  ha 
had  not  really  expected  to  discover  anything. 


"Come  to  My  Arms."  23 

In  fact,  he  was  not  yet  near  enough  to  be  able  to  dis- 
tinguish who  it  was  that  had  been  waiting  for  the 
pretty  girl  he  had  marked  for  his  own  prey. 

All  that  was  clear  to  him  was  that  the  young  man  was 
well  dressed,  and  bore  himself  like  a  gentleman. 

"So  that's  it,  eh?"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

"She  has  a  swell  for  a  lover,  already.  That  is  why 
she  spurns  my  advances.  I  thought  it  was  odd.  And 
yet  she  looks  so  innocent!  You  never  can  tell  with 
girls.  They  can  give  us  men  points  in  deception." 

It  never  occurred  to  his  base  mind  to  doubt  that 
Viola  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  greater  attractions  of 
some  young  roue. 

"Well/7  he  muttered,  as  he  sneaked  after  the  lovers, 
"she  is  too  pretty  to  give  up  right  away.  My  turn  may 
come  yet.  I  will  see  his  face,  and  that  may  help  me  to 
an  idea.  I  am  not  handsome;  but  I  have  more  wit  and 
cunning  than  better-looking  men." 

He  chuckled  as  he  spoke;  for  his  own  words  re- 
called to  him  the  numerous  times  that  he  had  set  out  to 
accomplish  something,  and  had  succeeded. 

Wfiile  the  lovers  stood  in  the  shadow  and  opened 
their  hearts  to  each  other,  he  stood  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street,  under  a  stoop,  watching  them  with  all  his 
eyes. 

He  saw  all  that  happened,  but  heard  nothing,  though 


24  "Come  to  My  Arms/* 

he  racked  his  brains  to  think  of  some  way  of  catching 
only  a  few  words. 

There  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind,  however,  that  Viola 
loved  the  young  aristocrat,  and  he  was  surprised  to  dis- 
cover how  angry  the  thought  made  him. 

"Curse  the  girl!"  he  muttered.  "Why  did  she  want 
to  fail  in  love  with  him?  It  would  have  been  better  for 
her  to  look  on  me  with  favor.  I  can  do  more  for  her, 
and  would  not  tire  of  her  as  soon.  But  I  will  find  some 
way  of  getting  between  them.  Some  brainless  dude,  no 
doubt;' 

He  cared  more  for  Viola  than  he  had  supposed.  He 
had  watched  her  covertly  for  weeks,  and  had  gloated 
over  her  with  the  thought  that  when  the  time  was  ripe, 
he  would  get  her  into  his  power. 

And  now  that  he  had  decided  to  take  the  first  step 
toward  winning  her,  this  stranger  had  stepped  in  and 
taken  her  from  him. 

He  ground  his  teeth  as  he  watched  Walter  pressing 
her  rosebud  lips.  He  had  looked  at  those  perfect  lips 
many  a  time  with  silent  gloating;  dreaming  of  the  time 
when  they  would  be  free  to  him. 

He  had  gazed  at  her  rounded  form  with  delight. 
And  he  hated  the  man  whose  arm  was  about  her  waist 
now. 

"I  would  have  married  her/'  he  hissed  to  himself. 
/That  young  aristocrat  will  ruin  her*!" 


"Come  to  My  Arms/5 


:  ,In  truth  his  iijiativres  from  the  first  had  been  of* the 
very  basest.  It  was  only  now  that  he  realized  that  her 
wonderful  beauty  had  captured  ;wh;at  took  the  place  of  a 
heart  in  his  despicable  nature. 

While  the  two  were  occupied  with  their  happiness, 
and  'were  oblivious  of  all  that  passed  about  them,  he 
stole  from  his  hiding  place  and  sneaked  to  the  corner, 
-where  he  knew  they  must  pass; 

He  drew  his  hat  low,  turned  his  coat  collar  up,  and 
crouched  against  the  wall  like  a  homeless  tramp,  wait- 
ing for  them  to  come  by. 

And  at  last  they  did  come  by,  the  veil  still  off  the 
sweet  face,  now  irradiated  with  joy  and  fixed  with  pas* 
sionate  gaze  to  the  face  of  Walter  Hardman. 

They  passed,  and  Peter  Harriem  gazed  after  them 
with  baleful  eyes  fixed  on  the  young  man. 

" Walter  Hardman !"  he  gasped.  "That  whelp !  It  is 
something  else  I  owe  him  for.  .He  scorns  me,  and  looks 
down  upon  me,  the  white-handed  aristocrat!  Now. he 
has  stolen  her  from  me.  Oh,  it  will  be  a  very  sweet 
revenge !  How  I  hate  him ! 

"He  has  always  had  all  that  has  been  denied  to  me; 
he  has  had  ease  and  luxury  from  his  babyhood;  he  has 
been  petted  and  spoiled;  he  is  handsome  and  talented. 

"Lwas  born  virtually  in  the  .gutter,  I  have  had  nafch- 
ing;  but  hard  work. and  cold  looks.  I  have  been  kicked 


26  "Come  to  My  Arms." 

and  cuffed  from  place  to  place.  I  am  ugly  and  com- 
monplace. 

"But  the  money  he  was  born  to  will  some  day  be 
mine.  And  money  is  power.  I  shall  make  men  bow  to 
me  because  I  hold  the  wealth  to  make  them.  And  he 
will  have  to  work  with  his  white  hands,  or  starve. 
Curse  him !  I  hope  he  will  starve. 

"And  now  he  comes  to  take  my  beautiful  Viola.  But 
I  will  tear  them  apart,  and  bring  her  to  my  feet.  I 
will  punish  them  both,  and  yet  possess  her.  She  shall 
be  mine. 

"I  will  work  and  scheme  and  plot  until  he  is  ruined, 
and  she  is  forced  to  come  to  my  arms.  Then  let  her 
shudder  because  I  touch  her  dainty  arm !  then  let  her 
start  from  me !'' 

He  half  crept,  half  slouched  away,  his  shambling 
form  seeming  to  move  sideways  as  he  progressed. 

He  had  a  room  in  a  great,  lonely  building  in  an  out- 
cf-t  he-way  quarter  of  the  city,  because  it  was  cheaper 
to  rent  a  small  room  and  buy  only  what  he  wanted 
to  eat. 

He  would  not  let  any  rapacious  landlady  get  rich 
at  his  expense. 

So  he  lived  in  the  cheerless  little  room,  cooked  his 
own  breakfast  and  supper,  and  bought  only  his  dinner 
in  a  cheap  restaurant,  where  he  could  tell  just  which 
\vere  the  cheapest  dishes  to  buy. 


"Come  to  My  Arms/'  27 

He  dressed  well  because  Silas  Hardman  demanded 
that  of  everybody  connected  with  Hardman  &  Son. 

Now  that  he  was  in  his  cold  room,  he  threw  off  his 
good  clothes,  donned  a  shabby  suit,  far  too  short  in  the 
legs  and  arms  for  him,  and  then  lighted  the  fire  in  the 
little  cookstove. 

His  supper  was  a  simple  affair,  and  did  not  take  long 
to  cook — a  tiny  piece  of  chuck  steak  and  two  slices  of 
stale  bread. 

He  had  discovered  that  stale  bread  could  be  bought 
for  two  cents  less  a  loaf  than  fresh  bread. 

After  his  supper  he  paced  the  room  so  that  he  might 
think  of  what  he  would  better  do  in  relation  to  Viola 
and  Walter.  Besides,  if  he  walked  he  would  not  need 
much  fire  in  the  stove. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"l    LOVE    THAT    SALESGIRL." 

Silas  Hardman,  grim  and  keen-eyed,  sat  in  his  pri- 
vate office  on  the  second  floor  of  the  great  building  in 
which  the  enormous  business  of  Hardman  &  Son  was 
carried  on. 

Excepting  for  Walter,  he  cared  for  no  human  being. 
The  business  of  his  life  was  to  amass  more  and  mare 
.wealth,  until  at  last  it  should  be  said  of  him  that  no  one 
was  richer. 

Walter  was  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  to  have  all  that 
he  never  had  had,  or  even  cared  for.  Walter  should 
take 'his  place  in  the  world  of  fashion,  and  be  talked 
of  in  the  papers. 

Walter  might  have  his  yacht  and  his  horses.  He 
must  belong  to  the  fashionable  clubs,  and  be  a  first- 
nighter  at  the  theaters.  There  was  a  box  at  the  opera 
and  a  country  scat  up  the  Hudson. 

And  Walter  was  to  marry. into  the  most  exclusive 
hirnily  in.New  York.  He.was  to. ally- himself  to;  beauty, 
wealth.,  aip d  blood.  Eunice  Carroll, seemed  to  have  ful- 
filled Walter's  fate  by  loving/him. 

Silas  Hardman  had  discovered  it  by  accident,  and 
had  h^iktl  k  as  a -.dispensation,  of  Providence.  Waltef 


"I  Love  That  Salesgirl/"  29 

was  to  marry  Eunice.     And  it  never  had  occurred  vto 
his  father  that  he  would  object. 

There  was  something  •  inflexible'  in  the  love  of  the 
elder  for  his  son. ;  It  almost  seemed  as  if  he  was  trying 
to  live  Walter's  life  for  him. 

Walter  wondered  sometimes  if  his  father  was  not 
vicariously  enjoying  the  youth  he  had  lost 

Peter  Harriem,  with  his  sphinxJike  face  and  reptile 
mariner,  stood  in  front  of  Mr.  Hardman,  reading,  in  a 
low,  yet  distinctly  audible  tone,  .from  some  papers  re- 
lating to  the  affairs  of  the  firm. 

Mr.  Hardman  listened  intently,  and  made  curt  com- 
ments, which  the  other  noted  down  with  a  subtle  rever- 
ence of  manner  which  pleased  the  employer.  Any  other 
sort  of  flattery  he  would -have  resented,  but  he.  liked 
that.  It  seemed  so  unintentional. 

While  they  were  still  thus  occupied,  ther£  came  a 
soft  tap  at  the  door.  Peter  looked  with  humble  inquiry 
,at  Mr.  Hardman. 

"Come  in !"  said  -Mr.  Hardman  curtly,  and  with  a 
note  of  impatience  in  his  tone. 

The  door  opened,  and  with  flushed  face  and  hesitat^ 
ing  step,  Viola  entered,  carrying  a  package,  which  she 
handed  silently  to  Peter,  who  stood  quite  still,  so  that 
she  was  obliged  to  cross  the  room  to  Jjjirh. 

Mr.   Hardmdn  looked  at  her  with  cold,   inquiring 


30  "I  Love  That  Salesgirl." 

eyes,  seeing  her  exquisite  beauty  without  being  af- 
fected by  it. 

"Lace  samples  from  Merivale,  Parker  &  Co./'  said 
Peter. 

"Go!"  said  Mr.  Hardman  curtly. 

Viola  fled  with  trepidation,  wondering  in  her  quak- 
ing heart  how  that  man  could  be  the  father  of  her 
Walter. 

"Why  was  she  sent?"  demanded  Mr.  Hardman,  in 
his  cold  way.  "Are  there  no  messengers?" 

"If  }^ou  please,  Mr.  Hardman,"  answered  Peter,  in 
his  most  cringing  tone,  "1  left  word  to  have  her 
sent  up." 

Mr.  Hardman  was  never  angry  in  the  usual  sense. 
It  was  seldom  necessary.  He  glanced  with  surprised 
coldness  at  his  confidential  man,  and  said : 

"Why?" 

"Will  you  pardon  me,  Mr.  Hardman,"  said  Peter 
humbly,  "if  I  explain  in  my  own  way?  I  assure  you 
it  is  a  matter  of  importance." 

"Go  on;  you  know  by  this  time  that  I  do  not  wish 
to  waste  time.  What  is  it  you  wish  to  tell  me?" 

He  supposed  there  had  been  a  theft,  in  which  the  girl 
was  mixed  up. 

"Did  you  notice  how  unusually  beautiful  the  girl 
was,  sir?"  Peter  asked,  his  manner  apologizing  for  him 
for  referring  to  such  a  matter  in  business  hours. 


"I  Love  That  Salesgirl/'  31 

"I  suppose  she  was  beautiful.  Yes.  Well?"  was  the 
curt  and  somewhat  surprised  rejoinder. 

"I  hope,"  Peter  went  on,  effacing  himself  more  and 
more,  "that  I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  that  I  am  devoted 
to  your  interests  ?" 

"I  pay  you  to  be,"  was  the  curt,  cynical  response. 

"Yes,  sir,  you  pay  me  too  liberally,  and  that's  why  I 
try  to  do  my  duty.  It  is  a  new  and  painful  duty  now, 
sir." 

"Then  waste  no  time  in  doing  it,  Harriem,"  said 
the  other,  as  impatiently  as  he  ever  permitted  himself 
to  speak. 

"It  was  quite  by  accident,  sir,  but  as  I  went  home  last 
night,  I  saw  this  girl  being  embraced  and  kissed  on  one 
of  the  side  streets  by  a  young  man." 

"Discharge  her!  Why  should  I  be  bothered  with  the 
shameless  story?" 

"The  young  man,  sir,"  said  Peter,  dropping  his 
voice  to  a  sibilant  whisper,  "was  Walter." 

A  dead  silence  followed.  Silas  Hardman  grew 
white,  and  the  hand  that  held  the  ebony  penholder 
trembled  a  little.  Then  the  lines  around  his  mouth 
harlened,  and  he  spoke. 

"You  did  well  to  tell  me.  You  have  the  honor  of 
my  name  at  heart.  You  shall  not  regret  it.  We  ex- 
pect these  things  of  young  men  about  town.  I  only 
wish  it  had  been  with  some  one  not  in  our  employ.  W 


32  "I  Love  That  Salesgirl." 

will  have-to  provide  for  the  girl  in  some  way.  Waltes 
must  be  more  careful.  He  will  be  here  this  morning." 

Peter  knew  it  would  be  unwise  to  press  the  subject, 
and  only  said : 

"I  hope,  sir,  you  will  not  let  me  incur  Mr.  Walter's 
ill  will  by  revealing  my  part  in  the  matter/' 

"Certainly  not.     Go!" 

And  that  was  how  the  subject  of  the  working  girl's 
probable  ruin  was  dismissed  from  the  mind  of  Silas 
Hardman.  It  would  be  demoralizing  to  discipline  to 
have  Walter  ruining  the  salesgirls  of  Hardman  &  Son. 

Walter  came  in  just  as  Peter  was  leaving  the  office. 
The  latter  bowed  with  a  cringing  humility  that  dis- 
gusted Walter,  and  made  him  return  it  with  a  curt  nod. 

"Gpod  morning,  father!"  he  said  cheerily,  as  the 
door  closed  on  the  shambling  head  clerk. 

The  change  in  the  expression  of  Silas  Hardman  was 
something  marvelous.  It  could  be  seen  that  the  love 
and  affection  which  the  ordinary  man  bestows  on  many 
was  in  him  all  concentrated  on  Walter. 

"My  boy,"  he  murmured,  "what  is  it  this  morning? 
More  money  for  your  extravagance,  eh,  you  young 
do.e?" 

"No,  father,"  replied  Walter:  "you  never  let  me 
have  a  chance  to  run  short  of  money.  I  came  to  see 
you  about  a  more  important  matter  than  that." 

"More  important  than  money!"  cried  his  father,  ris- 


"I  Love  That  Salesgirl/5  33 

and  slapping  him  genially  on  the  shoulder.     "Oh, 
what  is  that,  I  would  like  to  know?" 
He  laughed  as  he  spoke.     No  one  but  Walter  ever 
heard  him  laugh. 

"Love  and  marriage  are  more  important  than  money, 
father,  I  think." 

"Oh-o!"  said  his  father;  "it  has  come  to  this,  has  it?. 
Well,  my  boy,  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it.  But,  Walter, 
this  is  a  very  busy  day  with  me.  I  shall  be  home  at 
four  o'clock  this  afternoon.  Let  us  leave  the  matter 
till  then.  Will  that  suit?  I  shall  be  rejoiced  to  talk' 
with  you  about  it  then." 

"All  right,  father,  I  would  not  have  come  here,  only 
I  was  afraid  I  would  have  no  other  chance  to  talk  with 
you.  You  are  so  busy.  I  wish  you  would  let  me  help 
you." 

"Tut,  tut !  your  business  is  to  enjoy  yourself,  Walter. 
Oh,  by  the  way I" 

He  lowered  his  voice  and  drew  Walter  toward  the 
window  that  looked  out  on  Sixth  Avenue.  Walter 
stared  wonderingly  at  him. 

"What  is  it,  father?"  he  asked. 

"Walter,"  said  his  father,  "I  know  well  enough  that 
young  men  will  be  young  men.  I  .don't  want  you  to 
be  a  saint.  I  know,  too,  what  a  temptation  a  pretty 
girl  is  wherever  you  find  hen  I  never  had  time  for 


34  "I  Love  That  Salesgirl." 

that  sort  of  thing,  myself,  but,  of  course,  it  is  differer 
•with  you." 

Walter  flushed  and  looked  uncomfortable,  but  did  not 
quite  comprehend. 

"Well,  father?"  he  said,  looking  into  the  serious 
face  of  the  other. 

"Well,"  Silas  Hardman  said,  with  an  expression 
that  told  how  sorry  he  was  to  find  any  fault  with  his 
son,  "I  would  not  inquire  into  your  little  escapades, 
and  I  don't  mean  to  say  there  is  any  harm  in  them, 
only  I  wish  you  would  not  select  any  of  the  girls  of 
the  establishment.  See?" 

The  flush  of  embarrassment  died  out  of  Walter's 
cheeks,  and  gave  place  to  a  dull  white. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean,  father?"  he  asked,  in  a 
low  tone. 

"There,  now!  don't  be  hurt,  Walter/'  the  other  said 
soothingly.  "I  happened  to  hear  how  you  had  been 
kissing  her  on  the  street  last  night.  But  don't  look 
so  worried  over  it.  I  don't  think  anything  of  it,  my 
boy.  I  know  what  young  men  of  fashion  are.  Now, 
good-by  and  this  afternoon  we  will  talk  over  this  matter 
of  your  marriage.  By  the  way,  be  careful  not  to  let 
Eunice  get  wind  of  the  pretty  little  salesgirl.  Good- 
by!" 

"Father!"  Walter's  face  was  white,  and  there  was  a 
note  :>f  vehement  in  Ion  in  his  voice. 


"I  Love  That  Salesgirl."  35 

''Well,  Walter?  I  am  afraid  you  are  angry  with 
me.  I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  angry.  I  thought  I 
was  doing  the  right  thing,  my  boy.'' 

"You  don't  understand,"  Walter  said,  in  a  low  tone. 
"I  did  not  come  here  to  speak  of  marriage  with  Eunice 
Carroll.  I " 

"Well,  never  mind!  I  had  set  my  heart  on  Eunice, 
but  if  there  is  some  one  else  just  as  good,  I  shall  make 
no  objection.  If  that  is  all,  why " 

"But  it  is  not  all,  father.  I  came  to  speak  of  one  a 
thousand  times  more  good  and  beautiful  than  Eunice 
Carroll." 

"What  a  persistent  boy!"  said  his  father,  in  a  sort 
of  good-natured  impatience.  "Why  won't  you  wait 
until  this  afternoon?" 

"Because  there  is  not  one  moment  to  lose  before  I 
set  you  right.  I  could  not  go  away  and  leave  the  one 
I  love  under  an  imputation  so  false  and  outrageous,  so 
insulting  and  base.  I  must  tell  you  now,  father,  that 
the  woman  I  love  and  will  make  my  wife  is  that  sales- 
girl of  whom  you  have  spoken  such  terrible  words." 

Silas  Hardman  turned  ghastly  white  and  looked  at 
Walter  with  incredulous,  yet  horrified  eyes. 

"Walter!"  he  gasped. 

"Yes,  father,  it  is  true,"  answered  Walter,  throw- 
ing his  head  back  with  a  gesture  of  proud  nobility;  "I 
love  Viola  Redmond,  and  intend  to  make  her  my  wife!'* 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    GREATEST    DEVOTION. 

All  his  life  long  Walter  had  been  indulged  by  his 
father  in  every  whim;  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  father 
could-  refuse  him  nothing. 

Perhaps  the  same  thought  flashed  through  the  mind 
of  Silas  tj-ardman  as-  he  turned  his  white,  set  face  to- 
ward his  son. 

Never  before  had  there  been  even  a  difference  be- 
tween them;  for  Waiter  had  never  asked  for  anything 
that  his  father  had  not  been  more  than  willing  to  grant 
him. 

The  first  impulse  of  the  elder  man  was  to  break  out 
in  furious  denial  of  Walter's  right  to  choose  for  him- 
self in  this  matter. 

But,  as  he  gazed  into  the  defiant  face  of  his  son,  it 
'Came  to  him  that  it  might  be  easier  to  make  a  breach 
than  to  heal  it. 

With  any  other  person  he  would  have  been  hard 
and  unyielding.  It  seemed  impossible  to  b^  so,  with 
Walter;  and  yet  he  did  not  dream  of  letting; ,his  son 
have  his  own  way. 

The  hard,  stern  light  faded  out  t>f  his  eyes  as  he 
looked  at  the  handsome  face  of  the  boy  h^  worshiped, 


The  Greatest  Devotion.  37 

and  it  came  to  him  that  there  was  more  than  one  way 
of  having  his  will. 

"Is  your  heart  so  set -on  this  girl,  Walter?"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"I  can  never  love  any  but  her,  father,"  answered 
Walter,  with  a  secret  exultalioii'at  seeing  how  mild 
his  father  was. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  turnmg'  out  exactly 
as  he  had  expected.  His  father  could  not  cross  him. 

"Are- you'  sure  of  it?"  the  other  asked,  "tlow  long 
have  you  known  her?" 

"I  have  known  her  for  about  three  months,"  Walter 
answered  eagerly.  "I  loved  her  from  the  moment  T 
saw  her,  and  I  have  grown  to  love  her  better  every 
day." 

Silas  Hardman  bit  his  lip  witE  anger.  It  was  not,, 
as  he  had  hoped,  merely  the  infatuation  of  a  young 
man  for  a  pretty  face. 

"Are  you  engaged  ?"  his   father  asked. 

"Yes,  I  told  her  of  my  love  last  night,  and  wenfl 
home  with  her  to  ask  her  mother's  consent." 

0 And:  the  mother,"  sneered  Silas  Hardmanj  "was 
only  too  glad  to  say  yes." 

Walter  smiled  triumphantly. 

"You  are  entirely  mistaken,  father,"  he  said  quickly. 
"She  said  she1  could  not  consent  to  the  engagement 
unless  you  consented  first.  She  wottld  not  have  it 


38  The  Greatest  Devotion. 

look  as  if  she  and  her  daughter  had  entrapped  the  son 
of  a  rich  man." 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  that,  my  boy?"  the  older 
man  inquired. 

"I  said  you  had  never  denied  me  anything  yet,  and 
I  did  not  believe  you  would  begin  when  my  whole  hap- 
piness was  dependent  on  your  consent." 

"Do  you  mean,  then,  Walter,"  said  the  older  man, 
"that  if  I  say  no,  it  will  be  final  with  you?" 

Walter  threw  his  head  back  with  his  proud  gesture. 

"No,  sir;  I  would  not  like  to  run  counter  to  your 
wishes,  but  this  is  a  matter  in  which  I  admit  of  no 
interference." 

"And  you  would  marry  her  though  I  refused  my 
consent?"  his  father  asked,  eying  Walter  keenly. 
"What  then  becomes  of  the  unwillingness  of  the 
mother?  Is  the  daughter  ready  to  defy  her  parent, 
too?" 

"I  have  not  asked  her,  nor  considered  it,"  Walter 
replied.  "I  was  sure  you  would  consent  if  you  knew 
that  my  happiness  depended  on  it.  And  if  you  will 
but  see  her,  father,  and  speak  with  her,  I  am  sure  you 
will  consent." 

"I  have  seen  her.    What  is  her  nam,e?" 

"Viola  Redmond." 

"Ah,  yes!  And  you  think  she  will  marry  you 
whether  I  consent  or  not?" 


The  Greatest  Devotion.  39 

think  she  so  loves  me  that  she  will  wait  until  I 
have  earned  the  right  to  go  to  her  and  say  that  I  can 
take  care  of  her  by  my  own  efforts,"  Walter  an- 
swered. 

"Then,  if  I  refuse,  you  will  cut  loose  from  the  father 
who  has  given  his  whole  life  to  you?"  queried  Silas 
Hardman,  his  voice  breaking  with  an  emotion  that  was 
strange  in  his  breast. 

Walter  went  over  to  his  father  and  placed  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Why  do  you  put  it  that  way,  father?"  he  said.  "I 
would  do  anything  else  but  give  her  up.  I  cannot  do 
that.  If  I  told  you  I  would,  I  could  not  keep  my  prom- 
ise, for  I  love  her  with  a  passion  that  would  control 
me  in  spite  of  all.  Why  not  consent?  She  is  all  that 
even  you  could  ask.  She  is  poor,  it  is  true,  but  what 
of  that?  We  are  rich  enough.  And  she  has  such 
beauty,  purity,  and  goodness  as  you  could  find  in  no 
other  woman.  Eunice  Carroll  is  not  to  be  thought 
of  in  comparison  with  Viola." 

The  old  man  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
brain  seething  with  fierce,  furious  thoughts  toward 
the  girl  who  tried  to  rob  him  of  his  son. 

But  he  betrayed  nothing  in  his  hard,  impassive  face. 
He  had  schooled  his  countenance,  long  ago,  never  to 
betray  what  was  in  his  heart. 

"And  if  I  consent,"  he  said  slowly,  stopping  and 


. 
4O  The  Greatest  Devotion. 

facing  Walter,  "would  you  be  willing  to  wait  the  time 
set  by  me  before  your  marriage?" 

'There  is  little  I  would  not  do  to  earn  your  consent, 
father!"  cried  Walter,  with  eager  joy. 

A  gleam  of  triumph  lighted  up  the  cold  eyes  of  Silas 
Hardfiian. 

"I  distrust  a  love  that  is  so  sudden/'  he  said  slowly. 

Walter  smiled  confidently. 

"If  that  is  all,"  he  said,  "you  need  have  no  fear.  I 
love  her  truly,  and  can  never  love  any  other/' 

"But  how  can  you  be  sure  that  she  loves  you  equally 
well?"  his  father  asked., 

'If  you  knew  her  you  would  not  ask  that!"  Walter 
responded,  with  a  lover's  confidence.  "She  is  truth 
"  itself." 

"How  can  you  be  sure,"  his  father  persisted,  "that 

you  will  not  change?     You  have  seen  so  little  of  the 

world.    If  you  had  done  as  I  wished  you  to,  if  you  had 

visited  all  the  gay  capitals  of   Europe  and  met  the 

beauties   there — if  you  had  gone  the  rounds   of  the 

fashionable  summer  resorts  as  I  have  begged  you  to 

''  do,  you  might  have  seen  some  one  who  would  be  more 

'to  you  than  this  pretty  salesgirl." 

"That  is  impossible,  father,"  answered  Walter 
earnestly.  "I  love  Viola,  and  it  is  not  possible  to  love 
more  than  one  in  all  the  world  as  L love  her.  I  might 
have  liked  some  other  well  enough  to  &ink  I  could 


The  Greatest  Devotion.  41 

i .  I     . .  '  " 

wed  her.  But  if  in  the  workings  of  fate  I  had  after- 
vyard  seen  Viola,  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  love 
her  even  as  I  do  now." 

In  his  heart  Sitais  Hardmari  cursed  the  girl ;  but  on 
his  thin  lips  there  was  an  incredulous  smile,  as  if  he 
knew  his  son  was  only  talking  the  nonsense  of  youth. 

"If  I  thought  that,"  he  said,  "I  would  not  hesitate 
a  moment;  but  I  cannot  believe  it,  knowing  the  world 
as  I  do." 

"If  you  could  put  me  to  the  test  in  any  way/1  Wal- 
ter said  eagerly,  "you  would  find  that  what  I  say  is 
true." 

Again  the  cold  eyes  gleamed  with  furtive  triumph 
It  was  the  point  to  which,  with  his  icy  cunning,  he  had 
been  leading  his  son. 

"A  test,"  he  said,  as  if  he  had  not  before  thought 
of  such  a  thing.  "How  can  there  be  a  test?  If  I  could 
think  of  any  I  would  gladly  accept  your  suggestion." 

He  thus  threw  the  burden  of  the  idea  on  Walter,  and 
the  latter,  in  his  open  honesty,  never  dreamed  that 
all  his  father  had  said  before  was  but  to  lead  him  up  to 
this  thought. 

"We  can  find  a  test,"  Walter  said  quickly,  pleased 
with  the  thought.  "Try  us  anyhow  you  please. " 

His  father  put  out  his  hand  with  a  smile. 

"Walter,"  he;  said,  "I  was  vexed  when  you  told  me 
the  truth,  but  it  was  the  best  thing  to  da  I  do  seek 


42  The  Greatest  Devotion. 

your  happiness  above  everything  else.  I  had  other 
plans  for  you,  but  if  you  can  be  happy  only  in  this 
way,  why,  we  must  be  reconciled  to  it." 

Walter  shook  his  hand  with  fervent  joy. 

"You  are  always  good  to  me/'  he  said.  "You  do 
consent,  then?" 

"Consent !  Well,  I  suppose  it  amounts  to  that.  You 
spoke  of  a  test.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  take  a  step  you 
will  regret.  I  must  think  of  some  test,  if  I  can.  If  I 
cannot,  then  I  must  submit  and  take  your  word  for  it." 

"Thank  you,  sir!  oh,  thank  you!  I  have  not  told 
you,  because  it  was  impossible,  how  much  I  love  Viola. 
And  you  will  love  her,  too." 

Silas  Hardman  smiled  grimly. 

"You  talk  as  if  you  had  passed  successfully  through 
the  test  you  suggested.  Why,  I  cannot  even  be  sure 
that  you  will  be  willing  to  apply  the  test  when  I  have 
thought  of  it." 

"I  will,  father,"  cried  Walter  eagerly.  "Do  not  be 
afraid  of  that.  I  shall  be  glad  to  prove  to  you  the 
depth  and  strength  of  my  passion  for  her." 

"You  promise,  then,  that  you  will  not  rebel  and  say 
the  test  is  too  severe?" 

"You  will  not  make  it  an  unreasonable  one?"  queried 
Walter. 

His  father  laughed  in  his  grim  way,  but  Walter  saw 
by  his  face  that  he  was  pleased. 


The  Greatest  Devotion.  43 

"You  may,  and  no  doubt  will,  think  it  unreasonable, 
but  I  shall  endeavor  to  think  of  something  which  shall 
be  fair  to  you  and  to  her." 

"Then  you  need  not  doubt  that  I  will  accept  your 
judgment,  father.  When  will  you  let  me  know  what 
it  is?" 

"I  shall  be  home  at  four  this  afternoon.  By  that 
time  I  shall  have  thought  of  something.  Come  there/' 

Walter  smiled  joyously,  and  caught  up  his  hat. 

"I  shall  be  there,  father/'  he  said.  "Sorry  to  have 
interrupted  your  morning^  Good-by!" 

"You  will  say  nothing  to  the  girl  until  we  have 
talked  the  matter  over  and  reached  a  final  decision?" 
his  father  said. 

"I  shall  not  be  able  to  see  her  until  to-night,"  Walter 
answered.  "I  am  to  meet  her  and  take  her  home  to- 
night when  she  leaves  the  store.  I  would  not  attract 
attention  to  her  by  talking  with  her  in  the  store." 

"That  is  right,"  his  father  said.  "Good-by,  then, 
and  don't  bother  a  busy  man  any  more,  you  idle  dog!" 

"I  would  not  be  an  idle  dog  if  you  would  only  let 
me  work,"  Walter  replied,  with  a  joyous  laugh. 

Silas  Hardman  stood  at  his  desk  in  silence  for  a 
moment  after  the  door  closed;  then,  with  a  sudden 
hardening  of  the  lines  about  the  straight  mouth,  he 
pushed  the  electric  bell  which  he  used  to  call  Peter 
Harriem. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
"NEVER  WED  SUCH  A  GIRL." 

Peter  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  his  long,  lean 
wound   about   each   other,   his  yellow   teeth   gnawing 
uciously  at  his  scanty  mustache,  when  the  bell  sum- 
moned him  to  his  employer. 

He  would. have  given  all  the  world  for  the  chance 
to  hear  all  that  passed  between  the  father  and  son, 
but  circumstances  were  not  favorable  for  listening 
at  the  door.  •-,. .  -; 

He  had  rendered  it  so  purposely  when  he  did  not 
dream  that  anybody  but  himself  would  hold  confi- 
dential conversations  with  Silas  Hardman. 

Walter  had  passed  him  without  noticing  him,  and 
in  the  furtive  glance  Peter  stole  at  his  handsome  facie 
he  saw  that  it  was  irradiated  with  happiness. 

Thwi,  while  the  bell  was  still  ringing,  he  rose  and 
gazed  after  the  young  man  instead  of  hastening  with 
celerity  to  his  employer. 

He  waited  until  he  saw  Walter  pass  by  the  counter 
where  Viola  was  stationed — where  he  had  put  her,  in 
fact,  so  that  he  might  surreptitiously  feast  his  eyes  on 
her  beauty. 

He  noticed  that  Waiter  did  not  stop  to  say  any- 


"Never  Wed  Such1  a  Girl:*.  45 ' 

thing,  but  that  he  gave  a  quick,  almost  imperceptible 
nod,  which  she  seemed  to  comprehend,  for  in  an  in- 
stau t  her  fair  face  was  spififtised  with  a  flush  of  hap- 
piness. 

"Has  the  old  fool  yielded  in  this  as  in  everything 
else?'.'  he  hissed  to  himself,  j  "Will  he  -consent  "to- -let 
that  whelp  ruin  his  salesgirl?  Curse  him  if  he  has! 
I  will  fight  him,  too.  No  otle  shall  take  her  from 
me."  -,--•• 

Returned  and  crept  iti  his  stealthy  way  to  the  office 
upstairs,  where  Silas  Hardman  was  impatiently  await- 
ing him. 

He  glided  into  the  room,  casting  one  furtive  glance 
at  the  hard  face  of  the  old  man,  >ahd  then  taking  his 
place  in  front  of  the  desk  with  humble  attention. 
.  .-.."Finish- the  papers !"  the  old  man  said  curtly. 

The  papers  were  finished^  and  Peter  made  his  usual 
report. 

,  In  fact  all  the  business  of  the  morning  was  con- 
cluded, and  Peter,  '  with  '  fierce  chagrin,  believed  he 
was  to  be  dismissed  without  hearing  a  worcf  that  would 
enlighten  him. 

He  .turned  toward  the  door  with  reluctant  step. 
The  old  man  let  him  reach  the  door  and  place  his  hand 
on  the  knob  ere : he  recalled  him.  : 

"Stop!  there  is  something  else,"  he  said.  "You  did 
well  to  inform  me  of  what  you  saw."  , 


46  "Never  Wed  Such  a  Girl" 

"I  am  glad  if  I  have  pleased  you/'  Peter  whined,  his 
shifting  gaze  telling  him  that  there  was  more  to  come. 

He  did  not,  however,  take  his  hand  from  the  knob, 
but  stood  there  as  if  he  had  no  thought  of  remaining 
longer  than  to  hear  a  brief  word  or  two. 

"Come  back  here/1  said  Silas  Hardman.  "You 
thought  Walter  intended  the  ruin  of  this  girl — Viola 
Something." 

"Viola  Redmond;  yes,  sir/'  assented  Peter,  his  snaky 
eyes  trying  to  read  the  old  man's  thoughts. 

"Well,  you  were  wrong.  He  wanted  to  marry  her. 
To  marry  her !  Curse  the  girl !"  said  the  old  man,  with 
a  quiet  vehemence  and  passion  more  terrible  than  a 
violent  outburst. 

"Im-possible !"  ejaculated  Peter  slowly. 

"Yes,  you  may  well  say  impossible,  but  it  is  so.  My 
son  marry  such  as  she!  I  do  not  know  by  what  low 
cunning  she  entrapped  my  boy,  but  it  is  certain  that 
he  is  infatuated  with  her/' 

He  thumped  the  desk  in  anger.  Peter  stared  at  him 
with  growing  passion. 

Why  had  Walter  gone  out  in  triumphant  happiness  ? 
Had  his  father  consented  to  the  marriage  in  spite  of 
bis  dislike  to  it? 

Well,  even  that  should  never  be.  Did  they  think 
Peter  Harriem  could  be  thrust  aside  so  easily?  Let 
them  see! 


"Never  Wed  Such  a  Girl."  47 

"And  you  consented  to  the  marriage?"  insinuated 
the  cringing  wretch. 

"Consented!"  repeated  Silas  Hardman,  with  angry 
vehemence.  "Why  do  you  think  that?" 

"I  saw  Mr.  Walter's  face  when  he  passed  me.  He 
looked  as  happy  as  one  does  who  has  gained  his  will." 

"Ah !"  said  the  old  man  briefly.  "He  thinks  I  have 
consented.  But  we  shall  see.  Do  you  wish  to  help 
me  in  this  affair?  It  may  be  worth  your  while,  even 
though  it  is  not  strictly  business." 

"Anything  is  strictly  business  that  concerns  you, 
sir,"  answered  Peter,  in  his  wheedling  tone. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  are  faithful,  or  I  would  not  have 
thought  of  you.  I  did  not  dare  refuse  Walter  for 
fear  he  would  do  something  rash.  He  is  innocent  and 
off  his  guard;  cunning  will  accomplish  the  same  end 
better.  He  must  not  marry  that  girl." 

Peter  softly  and  stealthily  rubbed  his  lean  hands  to- 
gether. The  game  was  to  be  in  his  hands  after  all. 

"It  would  be  a  disgrace,"  he  murmured.  "I  will  do 
anything  I  can.  Have  you  any  idea  of  a  way,  sir?" 

"Yes;  and  I  need  you  to  help  me  carry  it  out." 

"You  know  you  can  depend  on  me,  sir." 

"I  shall  make  it  worth  your  while,"  the  old  man  said 
coldly.  He  intended  to  pay  well  for  the  service. 
"Walter  has  consented  to  submit  to  a  test  of  his  love. 
I  thought  to  send  him  away  for  a  year.  I  could  send 


43  "Never  Wed  Such  a  Girl.57 

him  to  London  and  Paris  to  transact  sortie  trifling  busi* 
ness  for  the  house." 

"And  in  the  meantime/'  murmured  Peter,  his  snaky 
eyes  gleaming,  "the  girl  could  be  weaned  from  him,  Is 
that  the  plan,  sir?" 

The  cold  eyes  of  his  employer  rested  on  his  sallow 
face. 

"She  weaned  from  him!  That  is  a  foolish  thought. 
Do  you  think  she  will  ever  give  him  up  while  there  is 
a  ghost  of  a  chance?  No.  She  must  be  placed  in  ai 
position  which  will  render  marriage  with  Walter  im- 
possible. Do  you  comprehend?" 

"Not — not  quite,"  answered  Peter,  in  a  low,  husky 
voice. 

"I  thought  you  were  keener  than  that,"  sneered  Silas. 
"Well,  you  know  that  my  son  would  never  wed  a  girl 
whose  name  has  been  dragged  in  the  mire  of  infamy/' 

"I  think  I  understand  now,"  said  Peter  slowly. 
"Would — would  you  expect  me  to  compass  that  re- 
sult?" 

Silas  Hardman  glanced  contemptuously  over  the 
gaunt,  shambling  form  of  the  confidential  clerk,  and 
gave  vent  to  a  short,  scornful  laugh. 

"You  don't  look  much  like  a  lady  killer,  Harriem; 
but  I  will  leave  the  details  to  you.  Will  you  under- 
take it?" 

A  flush  passed  over  the  ugly  face  of  the  younger 


"Never  Wed  Sttch  a  Girl."  49 

man.    He  did  not  relish  being  reminded  of  his  lack  of 
attractions. 

"Let  me  see  if  I  fully  understand  my  task,"  he  said, 
as  if  he  had  no  feeling  whatever.  "I  am  to  so  situate 
the  girl  that  she  cannot  marry  your  son.  If  I  can  suc- 
ceed in  wedding  her  to  some  one — that  will  do/' 

"You  have  stated  it  exactly/'  said  Mr.  Hardman 
icily,  and  with  as  little  compunction  as  if  they  had  been 
discussing  the  life  of  a  chicken. 

Peter  stood  quite  still,  except  for  a  gentle  rubbing 
of  his  hands  together. 

Mr.  Hardman  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then 
smiled. 

"I  see.  You  are  wondering  what  your  reward 
for  all  this  is  to  be." 

"It  would  seem  more  businesslike,"  replied  Peter 
humbly,  "if  all  the  details  were  to  be  settled  now." 

"You  do  not  care  to  trust  to  my  generosity?"  queried 
the  other,  looking  keenly  at  Peter. 

"Generosity,"  said  Peter,  with  the  utmost  humility, 
"is  a  word  that  means  so  many  different  things.  ' 

"For  example?"  queried  the  other. 

'"At  this  moment,"  answered  Peter,  with  a  furtive 
glance  upward,  "when  you  have  need  of  me,  it  might 
mean  a  slight  share  in  the  business  of  Hardman  £  Son. 
After  the  affair  was  accomplished,  it  might  mean  no 
more  than  a  raise  of  salary." 


50  "Never  Wed  Such  a  Girl." 

The  face  of  Silas  Hardman  flushed  with  anger. 

"Do  you  mean,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  incisive  tone,  "that 
you  have  the  audacity  to  dream  of  being  a  member 
of  the  firm?" 

Peter  had  never  shrunk  together  more  humbly  than 
at  that  moment.  Yet  his  response  was  perfectly  clear, 
though  spoken  in  the  most  whining  tones. 

"All  of  us  have  our  mad  ambitions,"  he  answered. 
"And  I  am  sure  nothing  could  be  more  honorable  than 
the  desire  to  be  a  member  of  such  a  firm  as  that  of 
Hardman  &  Son." 

"A  mad  ambition,  truly,"  said  Silas  harshly.  "Have 
you  really  dreamed  of  such  a  thing?  And  do  you 
make  it  the  price  of  doing  this  for  me?'' 

"I  know  how  presumptuous  it  must  seem/'  whined 
Peter;  "but  it  is  an  honorable  ambition." 

"Is  it  your  price?"  demanded  Silas  Hardman,  his 
brows  contracted. 

"I  would  not  put  it  quite  that  way/'  responded 
Peter,  cringing  and  squirming  as  if  with  a  sense  of 
his  own  unworthiness. 

"But  is  it  your  price?"  persisted  the  old  man. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  could  undertake  the  risk  except 
for  some  adequate  recompense/'  said  Peter. 

"Very  well/'  said  Silas,  in  a  decisive  tone.  "I  will 
give  you  a  tenth  interest  in  the  firm  if  you  succeed  in 
separating  those  two." 


"Never  Wed  Such  a  Girl"  51 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir!  How  can  I  believe  my  ears? 
A  member  of  the  great  firm  of  Hardman  &  Son!  Oh, 
I  can  hardly  believe  it !" 

Silas  Hardman  eyed  him  curiously. 

"You  have  evidently  formed  a  plan  which  you  be- 
lieve will  be  successful/'  he  said  to  him.  "Is  it  so?" 

"I  think  I  can  succeed,"  answered  Peter,  in  the  pur- 
ring tone  of  a  great  lean  cat. 

"Under  the  circumstances  I  ought  not  to  be  trou- 
bled with  any  knowledge  of  the  details,"  said  the  old 
man.  "All  you  have  to  do  is  to  earn  your  reward. 
All  I  have  to  do  is  to  give  it." 

"That  is  all,"  answered  Peter,  twining  his  long,  bony 
fingers  in  and  out.  "Of  course,  you  will  give  me  a 
little  memorandum,  saying  that  I  am  to  be  made  a  part- 
ner. It  will  be  such  a  spur  to  my  activity  to  have  it 
where  I  can  look  at  it  now  and  then." 

Silas  bit  his  lip.  Peter  was  one  who  thought  of 
everything.  The  old  man  had  made  up  his  mind,  how- 
ever, and  took  up  a  sheet  of  paper  and  began  to  write. 
.When  he  had  finished,  he  handed  it  to  Peter,  who  read : 

"I,  Silas  Hardman,  do  hereby  solemnly  agree  with 
Peter  Harriem  that  on  the  day  he  brings  me  proof 
that  he  has  rendered  it  impossible  for  my  son  to  marry 
Viola  Redmond,  I  will  give  him  a  one-tenth  interest 
in  the  business  of  Hardman  &  Son. 

"SILAS  HARDMAN/* 


5*  "Never  Wed  Such  a  Girt." 

"That  is  all  that 'is  necessary/'  said  Peter,,  "excepting 
a  witness  and  an  acknowledgment  before  a  notary 
public/' 

"You  shall  have  that,  too/'  said  Silas,  with  an  icy 
smile,  "Neither  witness  nor  notary  need  know  the 
contents  of  the  paper.  Anything  else  ?" 

"It  will  cost  a  great  deal  of  money,;  probably/'  said 
Peter,  his  little  eyes  glittering  greedily. 

"I  will  put  five  thousand  dollars  to  your  credit  in  any 
bank  you  designate,"  said  the  old  man.  "Is  .that  all?1* 

"That  is  all  for  myself .  But  I  would  have  you  stipu- 
late with  Mr.  Walter  that  there  is  to  be  nothing  bind-, 
ing  between  him  and  the  girl  while  he  is  away." 

"Wise  precaution!    I  hope  you  will  succeed/' 

"No  man  ever  had  more  to. .work  for/'  answered 
Peter,  unable  to  subdue  his  exultation. 


CHAPTER  VII, 


Walter  could  not  have  told  how  he  passed  the  part' 
of  the  day  that'  intervened  between  leaving  his  father 
at  the  store  and  seeing  him  again  in  the  afternoon. 

He  had  won  his  consent  when  he  had  not  dared  to 
hope,  for  it,  but  had  braced,  himself/for  a  -violent  scene 
and  a  determined  denial.  And  after  that  he  had  had  ai 
glimpse  of  the  adorable  face  of  his  darling,  and  had  ex- 
changed with  her  an  ecstatic  look  of  hope  and  happi- 
ness. 

He  went  about  as  if  walking  on  air,  devouring  slow- 
moving  time  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  and  ending  by  going 
home  and  waiting  there  until  his  father  came. 

"You  have  determined  on  a  test,  father  ?"  he  cried, 
the  moment  he  entered  the  library. 

"Yes.    I  wonder  if  you  will  fight  against  it?" 

"Tell  it  to  me  —  let  me  know  what  it  is.  It  must 
needs  be  a  very  unreasonable  one  if  I  do  not  hail  it 
with  joy,"  answered  Walter. 

"Well,  I  have  combined  business  with  it,"  his  father 
replied.  "It  occurred  to  me  that  in  the  time  to  come, 
when  you  had  tasted  every  pleasure,  you  might  like  to 
know  «pmething  of  the  business." 


54  "She  is  a  Working  Girl" 

"It  is  my  dearest  wish,  father." 

"Well,  we  need  a  man  to  represent  us  in  London 
and  Paris,"  said  the  old  man. 

Walter's  face  fell.  He  suspected  in  a  moment  what 
the  test  was  to  be. 

"You  are  going  to  send  me  away?"  he  cried. 

"For  a  year." 

"Oh,  father!" 

"Does  it  seem  long,  Walter?  Yes,  of  course  it  does; 
but  a  year  is  only  a  year,  and  it  is  soon  gone  by.  Go 
there  and  remain  the  year,  and  if,  when  you  return, 
you  find  that  you  still  love  this  girl,  I  will  place  no  ob- 
stacle in  your  way.  You  shall  do  as  you  will." 

"It  is  a  severe  test,  father,"  Walter  protested.  "If 
it  were  only  that  we  could  meet  occasionally.  It  is  hard 
to  be  separated  from  the  one  we  love." 

"A  year  is  soon  gone,  Walter.  You  said  you  would 
agree  to  the  test." 

"Let  me  consult  with  Viola,"  said  Walter. 

"Consult  with  her?  And  what  if  she  says  she  can- 
not have  it?  Will  you  go  back  in  your  promise  to  me 
to  accept  a  reasonable  test?" 

"She  will  not  ask  me  to  do  that,"  Walter  answered, 
realizing  at  once  that  an  appeal  to  her  would  make  no 
difference. 

"Then  why,  appeal  to  her?"  his  father  said.     "Why 


"She  is  a  Working  Girl."  55 

settle  this  matter  between  ourselves?     Will  you 
go,  Walter?    It  is  not  much  to  ask  of  you." 

"Yes,  I  will  go.  She  will  understand.  I  will  go, 
father ;  I  can  trust  her,  and  she  can  trust  me.  I  know 
that  she  would  be  the  first  to  insist  if  I  were  to  ask  her. 
But  what  of  her  while  I  am  gone?" 

The  wily  old  man  hesitated,  then  spoke : 

"That  is  all  that  troubles  me.  If  she  is  what  you 
say,  she  will  be  too  high-minded  to  accept  pecuniary 
help  from  you  or  me." 

"That  is  true,"  Walter  said ;  "and  yet,  to  know  that 
she  is  working  so  hard  all  that  year.  Don't  you  think, 
father,  that  your  girls  work  altogether  too  hard?" 

The  old  man  bit  his  thin  lip  to  keep  back  the  sneer 
that  rose  to  it. 

"You  shall  regulate  that  when  you  are  managing  the 
business,"  said  he.  "In  the  meantime,  as  to  Viola. 
The  only  way  I  can  think  of  is  to  give  her  a  better 
position  and  more  pay.  I  can  do  that  without  letting 
her  know  that  I  am  watching  over  her." 

"How  good  and  generous  you  always  are  when  I  am 
concerned !"  Walter  cried. 

"On  whom  else  should  I  lavish  my  affection,  my 
boy?  Then  that  is  settled.  By  the  way,  it  might  be 
better  not  to  let  her  have  any  idea  that  I  am  doing 
anything  for  her." 

"I  will  not  speak  of  it  to  her!"  Walter  said  eagerly. 


56  "She  is  a  Working  Girl." 

"And  another  thing,"  said  his  father  :  "I  think  there 
should  be  no  positive  engagement.  Just  tell  her  that 
I  am  willing  that  you  should  marry  if  you  continue 
to  love  when  you  return.  There  must  be  no  engage- 
ment/ 

Waiter  smiled  joyously. 

"There  is  no  need  of  an  engagement,  father.  She 
and  I  know  what  our  hearts  mean.  Oh,  I  am  impatient 
to  see  her  and  tell  her.  I  wish  you  would  see  her  and 
talk  to  her.  You  would  love  her.  I  know  you  would/' 

"I  saw  her  twice  to-day,"  his  father  answered.  "She 
is  very  beautiful.  I  hope  she  will  be  a  good  subject  for 
promotion,  for  I  shall  not  be  comfortable  until -I  have 
.put  it  in  her  power  to  earn  more  money/' 

"You  are  so  good,"  said  Walter;  and  so  the  arrange- 
ment was  made. 

That  night  Walter  was  waiting  near  the  corner  of 
Sixth. Avenue  for  her,  and  had  her  little  hand  clasped 
in  his  in  an  instant. 

Neither  saw  the  prowling,  shambling  shadow  that 
glided  after  them  on  the  other  side  of  the  way. 

Peter  Harriem  had  no  reason  for  following  and 
watching  them  now,  but  he  could  not  help  it.  It  seemed 
as  if  he  followed  them  in  order  that  he  might  suffer 
the  pain  and  misery  of  witnessing  their  loving  talk. 

Mrs.  Redmond  was  sitting  propped  up  in  a  chair 


.    "She  is  a  Working  Girl."  57 

the  lovers  entered  the  shabby  but  exceedingly 
neat  little  room  where  the  invalid  passed  her  days. 

"Oh,  mamma !"  Viola  murmured,  "it  is  all  right." 

The  invalid  looked  almost  incredulously  at  the  hand- 
some face  of  Walter,  as  if  she  would  detect  there  some- 
thing that  would  give  the  lie  to  the  happy  words  of 
her  child. 

"Your  father  has  consented?"  she  asked  wonder- 
ingly. 

"He  has  consented  in  a  way/'  answered  Walter.  "I 
am  to  go  away  for  a  year  to  attend  to  the  business  of 
the  firm.  There  is  to  be  no  set  engagement,  but  if  we 
still  love  on  my  return,  we  are  to  be  married/' 

"Yes,  that  is  wise/'  said  the  widow  slowly. 

"No  set  engagement !"  laughed  Viola.  "As  if  we 
needed  any  promise  to  hold  us  faithful  to  each  other. 
But/'  she  added,  with  a  sigh,  "a  year  is  such  a  long 
time," 

Peter  Harriem,  meanwhile,  had  turned  away  from 
a  contemplation  of  the  humble  tenement  into  which 
Walter  and  Viola  had  entered. 

He  sped  along  the  streets  as  if  with  a  defined  pur- 
pose in  his  mind,  and  more  than  one  person  stopped  to 
look  .jack  at  him,  so  weird  and  uncanny  an  object  did 
he  seem. 

He  stopped  in  front  of   a  mansion  on  Madison 


ft 

58  "She  is  a  Working  Girl." 

He  looked  np  and  hesitated  for  a  moment,  rubbing 
his  hands,  and  seeming  to  shrink  down  between  his 
high  shoulders  in  self-abasement. 

Then  with  a  sidelong  movement  he  ran  up  the  steps 
of  the  stoop  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Is  Miss  Carroll  at  home?"  he  asked  of  the  servant 
who  opened  the  door  and  stared  at  him  in  a  most  super- 
cilious fashion. 

"Who  is  it  shall  I  say?"  the  man  demanded  inso- 
lently. 

Peter  looked  up  from  under  his  eyebrows,  and  an- 
swered slowly: 

"The  confidential  clerk  of  Hardman  &  Son/' 

The  man,  like  all  servants,  knew  enough  of  the 
private  affairs  of  the  household  to  flush  with  mortifi- 
cation, and  to  hasten  to  invite  the  unprepossessing  clerk 
into  the  house,  sayhig: 

"Oh,  oh !  I  beg  pardon !  Walk  right  in !  I  will  tell 
Miss  Carroll's  maid.  In  there,  please." 

Peter  crept  into  the  reception  room,  with  a  sneer  on 
his  thin  lips,  muttering  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  over 
arid  over  again : 

"How  they  all  cringe  before  wealth  and  "power! 
Some  day  I  shall  be  Hardman  &  Son,  and  then  how 
I  shall  enjoy  my  power!  Then  I  can  make  Viola  as 
great  a  lady  as  this  proud  girl  whose  rustling  silks  I 
hear  now.'' 


uShe  is  a  Working  Girl."  .      59 

He  cringed  and  bowed  as  she  entered  the  room  with 
a  wondering  look  on  her  dark,  haughty  face. 

"Did  you  come  with  any  message?"  she  asked,  when, 
after  a  stare  of  proud  inquiry  at  him,  she  saw  that 
he  was  not  disposed  to  speak. 

"No,  I  brought  no  message,  if  you  please,  Miss  Car- 
roll. I  came  on  my  own  account  to  ask  you  to  do  me 
a  service." 

"I  do  not  understand/'  she  said  coldly.  "My  maid 
told  me  that  you  were  the  head  clerk,  or  something 
of  the  sort,  of  Hardman  &  Son.  Is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Carroll,  it  is  so,  and  I  have  taken  this 

very  great  liberty  because I  wonder  if  you  will 

forgive  me  if  I  speak  freely?" 

"Speak  freely,"  she  said,  inspired  in  spite  of  herself 
with  uneasiness. 

"You  will  not  betray  me  to  Mr.  Walter,  I  hope,"  he 
said,  glancing  up  furtively  to  see  how  she  took  the 
utterance  of  that  name. 

A  quick,  eager  flush  passed  over  her  face,  and  then 
was  hidden  under  a  mask  of  indifference. 

"Certainly  not,  if  it  is  anything  that  does  not  con- 
cern him,"  she  answered. 

"But  it  does  concern  him,"  whined  Peter,  writhing 
humbly.  "It  concerns  him  and  me  and  the  girl  I  love 
— such  a  beautiful  girl,  miss!" 

The  black  eyes  flamed  and  then  looked  cold. 


6o  "She  is  a  Working  Girl/5 

"I  do  not  comprehend  you,"  she  said.     "Go  onf' 

"I  have  your  kind  permission  to  go  oil?"  he  queried, 

"You  heard  me,"  she  responded. 

"He  says  he:is  in  love  with  her  and  wishes  to  marry 
her,"  Peter  said  abruptly,  his  snaky  eyes  never  leav- 
ing the  darkly  beautiful  face,  and  reading  every  tremor 
in  it. 

She  started,  and  flames  darted  from  her  eyes.  Her 
cheek 'paled. 

Then  her  lips  parted  as  she  said  coldly ; 

"Who  is  the  girl?" 

"She  works  in  the  store — ^a  salesgirl.  Oh,  so  beau- 
tiful! Mr.  Hardman  has  commissioned  me- — —  -May 
I  proceed  ?" 

She  stamped  her  foot  angrily. 

"I  tell  you  4;o  go  on.  Why  -do  you  keep  asking 
permission.  You  know  you  may  continue  with  your 
story." 

"I  was  not  sure  I  would  not  offehd,"  Peter  said,  in 
a  cringing  tone.  "Thank  you.  Mr.  Hardman  wishes 
you  to  be  his  son's  wife.  Don't  be  offended  with  me! 
And  he  has  commissioned  rne  to  break  off  the  other — • 
the  entanglement." 

Eunice  Carroll's  face  was  crimson,  but  her  self-con- 
trol was  wonderful,  and  she  only  said  calmiy : 
"Why  did  vou  come  here?" 


'She  is  a  Working1  Girl/'  61 


6'To  see  if  you  would  help  met*  he  answered,  his 
beady  eyes  flashing. 

"I!    How?-' 

" Walter  is  going  to  Europe  to  remain  a  year.  Sup- 
pose the  girl  should  become  infamous  while  he  was 
away?  Suppose  she  should  marry  another?  If  you 
would  help  me,  I  would  answer  for  the  rest/" 

/'How  could  I  help  you?"  she  asked. 

/'She  could  be  sent  to  you  to  show  you  some  laces. 
If  there  were  jewels  on  your  table  at  the  time,  and  if 
one  should  be  missed,  and  afterward  found  in  her 
pocket.  Ah!  An  arrest,  imprisonment,  thrown  out  of 
work,  unable  to  find  it  anywhere.  A  sick' mother,  too, 
starving,  dying,  maybe.  Ah!" 

He  had  crept  up  to  her  as  he  spoke  until  he  was.  close 
by  her  side  and  was  pouring  his  awful  picture  into  her 
ear. 

She  .shut  her  teeth  hard  .together,  and  whispered 
huskily: 
;    "Send  her  with  laces !" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    INFAMY. 

Walter  had  taken  his  departure,  and  Viola  had  been 
promoted  to  the  lace  department. 

The  parting  had  been  a  grief  to  her,  and  she  had 
clung  to  Walter,  sobbing  and  murmuring  words  of  love 
and  devotion. 

"Be  true  to  me  and  our  love !"  Walter  had  said. 

"I  will  be  true  through  everything/'  she  had  re- 
sponded. 

Viola  had  studied  hard  to  learn  her  new  duties, 
happy  in  the  increase  of  pay  that  had  come  to  her.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  future  was  very  bright. 

"Miss  Redmond,"  said  the  head  of  the  department 
to  her  the  day  before  Christmas,  "here  is  a  package  of 
laces  to  be  taken  at  once  to  this  address.  The  young 
lady  is  a  good  customer,  and  I  wish  her  to  be  pleased." 

Viola  took  the  package,  knowing  that  sometimes  such 
things  were  done  for  their  best  customers. 

She  started  and  flushed  as  she  looked  at  the  address. 
She  had  heard  of  Eunice  Carroll  from  Walter,  and 
had  read  of  her  in  the  fashion  notes  in  the  daily 
papers. 

Perhaps  she  was  not  sorry  to  see  the  womai)  from 


The  Beginning  of  Infamy.  63 

whom  she  had  taken  Walter.  She  was  only  human, 
and  she  wished  to  see  with  her  own  eyes  if  Eunice  was 
as  beautiful  as  the  papers  all  said. 

She  took  rather  more  time  than  usual  in  the  cloak- 
room before  she  started.  She  was  naturally  not  un- 
willing to  appear  at  her  best  before  Eunice  Carroll. 

It  was  impossible  for  her  not  to  feel  a  little  awe 
when  she  entered  the  magnificent  mansion  on  Madison 
Avenue,  and  she  was  ushered  into  the  boudoir  of  the 
fashionable  beauty. 

There  was  a  bright  glitter  in  the  sloe-black  eyes  of 
Eunice  Carroll  when  the  salesgirl  was  brought  to  her. 
She  stared  at  her  with  a  cold,  hard  light  growing  in 
the  black  orbs. 

Viola  cast  her  eyes  down  in  her  embarrassment,  and 
then  stated  her  errand,  beginning  to  untie  the  package 
as  she  spoke. 

"Von  may  go,  Stella,"  Eunice  said  to  her  maid. 
"Never  mind  the  jewels!  I  have  no  doubt  the  girl  is 
honest/' 

Viola  turned  crimson.  What  an  insolent  way  to 
speak  of  her ! 

No  wonder  Walter  had  not  liked  the  proud  cretffeure, 
in  spite  of  her  imperious  beauty. 

In  her  humility.  Viola  did  not  hesitate  to  decide 
that  Eunice  was  more  beautiful  than  she;  though  more 


c>4  The  Beginning  of  Infamy. 

than  once  she  had  heard  herself  admiringly  called  the 
Belle  of  the  Dry  Goods  District. 

She  could  not  help  flashing  an  indignant  glance  at 
the  jewels  that  were  spread  out  on  the  dressing  table. 
The  maid  noticed  the  glance  as  she  went  from  the 
room. 

Viola  went  on  untying  the  package  and  presently 
had  spread  the  laces  out  so  that  Eunice  might  see 
them. 

Eunice,  meanwhile,  was  staring  at  the  girl,  whose 
beauty  had  won  Walter  Hardman. 

And  as  she  looked,  she  was  forced  to  admit  that 
such  brown  eyes  and  dimpled  cheeks  must  be  very 
winsome  to  a  man. 

She  studied  vengefully  the  lew,  white  brow,  and  ;he 
cherry,  pouting  lips;  the  curling  chestnut  hair,  and  the 
snowy  throat. 

Then  she  saw  that  the  hands  were  white,  dimpled, 
with  tapering  fingers,  and  that  the  form  that  was  dis- 
played by  the  snugly  fitting  coat  was  perfect  in  its  pro- 
portions. 

She  wished  to  hear  the  voice  that  would  issue  from 
between  the  dewy  lips  and  framed  a  question. 

"Have  you  brought  samples  of  all  your  best  laces  ?" 

"No,  miss ;  I  have  only  a  selected  few.  The  manager 
thought  you  would  not  like  to  see  too  many." 

The  voice  was  sweet  and  flutelike  in  its  clear,  musical 


The  Beginning  of  Infamy.  65 

tones;  and  Eunice  Carrol]  hated  the  innocent  girl  with 
a  deadly,  unreasoning  hat  re- 1. 

"Place  the  box  on  the  dressing  table,"  she  said,  "and 
let  me  have  the  laces  in  nry  lap." 

Viola,  remembering  what  Eunice  had  said  of  the 
jewels,  placed  the  box  on  the  table  without  approach- 
ing nearer  than  she  could  help,  and  then  stepped  far 
away  from  it. 

"Tell  me  the  prices/'  said  Eunice. 

Viola  stepped  to  her  side  and  looked  at  the  marks 
on  the  laces,  reading  them  off  as  she  did  so. 

Her  hands  were  engaged,  her  eyes  busy,  she  uncon- 
scious. 

The  hand  of  Eunice  Carroll  flashed  in  the  light,  and 
a  triumphant  glitter  filled  her  black  eyes. 

"I  will  take  these  two/'  she  said  sharply,  and  thrust 
the  others  into  Viola's  hands. 

Viola  gathered  up  the  laces,  folded  them  neatly,  and 
was  taking  the  box  from  the  table  when  Stella,  the 
maid,  entered,  having  been  summoned  by  the  ringing 
of  the  bell. 

"Help  her!"  Eunice  said  sharply. 

The  maid  assisted  Viola  as  much  as  she  could,  and 
showed  her  out  of  the  room. 

"Put  the  jewels  away,  now,"  said  Eunice.  "I  hope 
they  are  all  right." 

There  was  a  proloiieeti  silence.     Stella  was  carefully 


66  The  Thinning  of  Infamy. 

putting  the  jewels  away:  Suddenly  the  silence  was 
broken  by  a  sharp  cry. 

"Oh,  Miss  Eunice,  the  diamond  solitaire!  I  cannot 
find  it!  Oh,  let  me  call  the  girl  back." 

"Search  first.  Be  sure !  I  do  not  suspect  you.  We 
must  not  be  foolish  about  it.  Are  you  sure  it  was 
there?  Is  it  not  in  its  place?'' 

"It  was  here,  Miss  Eunice.  Let  me  call  her  back. 
It  is  not  in  its  place.  I  will  call  her  back,  Miss  Eunice." 

"It  is  too  late  for  that  now.  I  heard  the  door  close. 
Send  James  for  a  detective.  He  will  know  what  to 
do.  Ah !  that  miserable  thief !" 

Stella  flew  from  the  room  on  her  errand.  Eunice 
Carroll  fell  back  in  her  chair  with  white  face  and  flam- 
ing eyes. 

"It  is  the  beginning  of  her  infamy,"  she  murmured, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"WHO    SAID    MARRIAGE?" 

Viola's  nature  was  sweet  and  gentle,  but  it  was  not 
weak.  She  would  endure  and  suffer  much  from  those 
she  loved,  but  she  was  too  high-spirited  not  to  feel  an 
insult  keenly. 

The  manner  of  Eunice  Carroll,  more  than  her  words, 
had  stung  Viola,  and  she  left  the  house  of  the  haughty 
beauty  with  her  heart  throbbing  with  indignation. 

She  had  expected  to  find  her  cold  and  haughty,  but 
had  not  dreamed  that  she  would  insult  one  whose  only 
crime  could  be  her  poverty. 

At  least  it  never  occurred  to  Viola  that  Eunice  could 
have  any  reason  for  hating  her  and  wishing  her  ill. 

It  was  no  longer  difficult  for  her  to  comprehend  why 
Waiter  had  not  loved  the  one  chosen  for  him  by  his 
father. 

"She  is  very  beautiful/'  she  murmured, '"and  if  looks 
were  all,  Walter  might  easily  care  more  for  her  than 
for  me,  but  I  hope  I  shall  never  have  her  proud,  cold 
spirit."  4 

It  would  have  surprised  Viola  had  she  known  ,hat 
almost  any  man  would  have  declared  her  more  beauti- 
ful t'han  Eunice, 


68  " Who  Said  Marriage  ?" 

She  was  modest,  and  her  modesty  did  not  in  the  lea 
detract  from  her  exquisite  beauty  in  the  eyes  of  the 
men  who  looked  back  at  her  that  day  as  she  walked 
briskly  along  the  crowded  streets. 

Fortunately,  she  was  not  one  to  brood  over  a  wrong, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  she  had  forgotten  the  purse- 
proud,  insolent  manner  of  the  wealthy  beauty,  and  was 
enjoying  the  crowds  of  Christmas  buyers  which 
crowded  the  streets. 

Partly  because  the  .  air  was  keen  a,nd   sharp,   and 

partly  because  she  did  not  wish  to  waste  the  time  of 

her  employers,   she   stepped  briskly  along,   threading 

her  way  with  rosy  cheeks  and  dancing  eyes  through 

.  the  throngs. 

She  did  not  like  it  when  rude  men  stared,at  her,  but 
once  she  laughed  outright  when  she  heard  a  lady  say 
to  a  friend : 

"How  strange  it  is  that  these  shopgirls  should  be 
so  pretty!" 

Viola  laughed  heartily,  and  wandered  why  it  should 
be  strange  that  a  working  girl  should  be  pretty. 

She  was  still  laughing  softly  when,  she  entered  the 
store  of  Hardman  &  Son,  and  made  her  way  through 
the  crowds  thai  filled  it.  -5 

"Why  are ..you  laughing?"  one  of  the  girls  asked  her, 
as  she  took  her  place  behind  the  lace  counter  after  tak- 
ing off  her  things  in  the  cloakroom. 


"Who  Said  ;  Marriage  ?"  :  6<j 

'•  -  ^  There -was;  ^hardly time,to  tell  why  she  was  laugh1 
so  she  merely  answered  gayly  : 
"Oh,  because  I  feel  happy.'' 

"I  wonder  at  that,"  the  Other  said  fretfully:  "i 
should  think  it  would  be  enough  to  dampen  any  one's 
spirit  to  have  a  sick  mother  and  such  small  pay  to  sup- 
port her  on." 

•    The   forewoman,   who  had  listened,   shrugged   her 
shoulders  and  said  in  a  rather  spiteful  way : 

"You  mustn't  forget  that  Viola  is  a  pet  here.  Hasn't 
she  just  been  promoted  when  some  of  the  others  have 
been  sent  away?" 

Viola  was  busy  showing  a  customer  some  laces,  but 
she  heard  the  Pemark,  and  turned  to  say  good-nalnt:- 
edly: 

"I  admit  that  I  ought  to  be  happy  on  that  account. 
But  that  is  not  the  only  reason  for  my  happiness.''  - 

'.'"I  guess  Viola's  got  a  lover,"  laughed  one  of  the 
other  girls  softly. 

Viola  blushed  and  began,  to  tell  the  customer  the 
merits  of  the  lace  she  was  looking  at. 

The  other  girls  noticed  her  confusion  and  laughed  as 
they  showed  goods  to  customers. 

The  customers  could  not  hear  what  they  said  to 
each  other;  but  all  the  time  they  were  selling  they  kept 
tip  a  fire  of  .mischievous  talk. 
...,:;"jAs  sum^s.youjivv,  Jv,s<    Vsaid  one  ,pf  the  girls 


70  "Who  Said  Marriage  ?" 

who  had  not  yet  spoken,  "Viola  has  a  lover.  I  knew 
she  couldn't  be  long  without  one.  My!  look  how  red 
she  is !" 

The  girls  laughed  again. 

"It  is  to  be  worn  at  the  neck,"  said  Viola  to  her 
customer,  trying  to  pretend  that  she  had  not  heard, 
though  her  cheeks  were  the  color  of  a  peony. 

"How  well  it  suits  her!"  murmured  Rose.  "She 
ought  to  let  him  see  her  with  it  on.  He  would  give 
it  to  her  for  a  v/edding  present." 

Viola  had  put  the  lace  to  her  white  throat  to  show 
the  effect. 

"He  may  be  too  poor  to  buy  it/'  said  the  other  teas- 
ingly. 

"I  know  better  than  that,"  said  Rose,  as  she  meas- 
ured off  three  yards  of  lace  trimming.  "Such  a  beauty 
as  Viola  would  never  marry  a  poor  man." 

"Who  said  anything  about  marrying,"  said  the  other. 

"Why,  Molly!"  said  Rose;  "would  you  marry  for 
money?" 

"If  I  could,"  answered  Molly,  with  a  laugh; 
"wouldn't  you,  Viola?" 

Viola  had  gained  command  of  herself  by  this  time 
and  was  able  to  turn  around  and  answer  laughingly : 

"What  should  I  know  about  it?  I  suppose  I  shall 
marry  the  man  I  love  if  he  has  the  good  sense  to  ask 
me." 


'Who  Said  Marriage?"  71 

've  noticed,"  laughed  Rose,  "that  Viola  always 
5-oes  home  alone.  I  wonder  why  that  is?" 

"You  mean,"  said  Molly,  "that  she  leaves  the  store 
alone.  How  do  you  know  she  goes  home  alone?  I 
know  she  doesn't.  Look  at  her  face  now !" 

Viola  had  not  suspected  that  anybody  had  ever  seen 
her  with  Walter,  and  the  thought  of  it  brought  the 
rich  blood  to  her  round  cheeks. 

She  could  hear  the  girls  giggling,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  that  there  was  a  faint  smile  on  the  face  of  her  cus- 
tomer. 

"Is  it  anybody  we  know?"  demanded  Rose  eagerly. 

"I  should  say  so.  Just  see  how  she  blushes !"  replied 
Molly,  bent  on  teasing  Viola. 

"Do  tell  us  who  it  is,"  said  Rose. 

No  one  to  have  seen  the  girls  would  have  supposed 
they  had  anything  else  in  their  heads  than  the  selling 
of  laces  they  were  showing  the  ladies  on  the  other  side 
of  the  counter. 

"What  would  you  say—  began  Molly,  when 
Viola  turned  quickly  and  said  pleadingly: 

"Please  don't,   Molly." 

Molly  started  in  surprise. 

"You  don't  really  mean  anything,"  answered  Viola 
in  distress. 

She  could  not  bear  to  have  it  noised  abroad  in  the 
store  that  Walter  was  her  lover. 


72  "Who-  Said  Marriage?" 

"Tell  me  who.it  is, t  Molly,"  3aid  Rose,. -passing  be- 
hind  her  to  reach  down  a  box  of  laces.  "If  you  don't 
tell  me  I'll  pinch  you." 

"Please;  Molly,"  pleaded  Viola,  her  cheeks  burning. 

"It  is  too  good  to  keep/'  answered  Molly,  stifling 
a  laugh.  "Rose,"  it's- "  ; 

"I  think  it  awfully  mean  of  you,  Molly,"  pleaded 
Viola. 

''Quick,  Molly!"  said  Rose,  holding  the  box  of  laces 
.  in  her  hand. 

"Mr.  Harriem— sneaking  Peter,"  whispered  Molly. 

Viola  gave  vent,  to -a  sigh  of  relief,  then  laughed 
as  she  turned  and  caught  the  amazed  look  on  Rose's 
face. 

"Really?"  demanded  Rose,  pausing  to  talk  in  viola- 
tion of  the  rules  of  the  store. 

"No!"  said  Viola  emphatically.     "How  ridiculous!" 

"Young  ladies!"  said  the  forewoman  angrily,  as  she 
came  swiftly  toward  them,  "do  you  wish  me  to  report 
you?  A  nice  way  to  deserve  promotion!"  she  added, 
with  a  scornful  glance  at  Viola. 

She  was  nearing  thirty-five,  and  disliked  the  girls 
in  proportion  to  their  youth  and  beauty. 

But  Viola  was  too  much  relieved  to  discover  that 
Molly  had  not  guessed  right,  to  care,  much  what  Miss 


"Who  Said  Marriage  ?"  73 

.She  turned  again  to  the  counter  and  began  to  wait 
on  the^  crowds  there. 

A.  man  with  a  keen,  black  eye  and  a  drooping  black 
.mustache  passed  and  stared  furtively  at  the  girls. 

At  Viola,  when  his  eyes  fell  on  her,  he  stared  rather 
longer  than  at  the  others,  murmuring  as  he  moved  on : 

"That  must  be  the  one,  though  the  mistress  and  the 
maid  disagreed  as  to  her  good  looks.  A  mighty  pretty 
girl !  I  wonder  why  one  pretty  woman  hates  to  ac- 
knowledge the  beauty  of  another?" 

..He  was  moving  on  as  he  soliloquized,  and  did  not 
$top  until  he  reached  the  desk  occupied  by  Peter  Har- 
riem. 

He  looked  at  Peter  with  the  searching  look  that 
seemed  habitual  to  him, 

Peter  returned  his  glance  with  a  curiosity  that 
seemed  to  be  quickly  satisfied,  for  he. asked  coldly: 

"Did  you  wish  to  see  me?'1 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Hardman,,or  whoever  is  the  man- 
aging head  of  the  firm/' 

"I  am  the  confidential  man,"  Peter  replied.  "What 
is  your  business?" 

"Can  1' speak  to  you  in  private?" 

"No  one  will  overhear  you  here,"  Peter  said. 
*  The  man  glanced  about  him  with  a  swift  look  that 
seemed  to  tajke  in  evervtKng  in  sight,  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone: 


74  "Who  Said  Marriage  ?" 

"I  am  a  detective.  There  is  a  suspicion  of  theft 
against  one  of  your  employees,  and  I  am  here  to  in- 
vestigate it.  Will  you  help  me?" 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  Peter  said  slowly.  "If 
there  had  been  any  such  charge  made,  I  should  have 
known  it.  We  do  not  suspect  anybody  in  the  estab- 
lishment." 

'The  charge  is  made  by  some  one  outside  of  the 
store — a  Miss  Carroll,  in  fact." 

"Not  Miss  Eunice  Carroll?"  cried  Peter,  with  an 
assumption  of  deep  surprise. 

"Miss  Eunice  Carroll." 

"Tell  me  the  circumstances,"  Peter  said.  "Of  course 
I  will  assist  you.  I  hope  it  is  nothing  serious.  I  would 
not  have  one  of  our  best  customers  given  any  trouble. 
Who  is  the  person  suspected  ?" 

"A  diamond  ring  was  stolen,  and  the  person  is  the 
girl  who  took  some  laces  to  Miss  Carroll  from  this 
store." 

"Viola  Redmond!  utterly  impossible!  You  are  mis- 
taken, sir.  There  is  no  more  faithful  girl  in  the  store. 
She  has  just  been  promoted  for  her  good  behavior. 
Oh,  it  is  impossible !" 

The  detective  looked  quietly  at  Peter  until  he  had 
finished,  then  said  with  an  imperturbable  calmness: 

"I  did  not  say  she  \vas  guilty.    She  is  suspected,  and, 


"Who  Said  Marriage?**  /cj 

if  you  will  assist  me,  I  will  endeavor  to  unravel  the 
facts." 

Peter  flashed  a  swift,  furtive  glance  at  the  detective 
before  he  answered : 

"I  will  do  anything  I  can.  Hardman  &  Son  would 
not  for  the  world  have  any  customer  subjected  to  the 
least  annoyance.  Shall  I  send  for  Miss  Redmond?" 

"This  will  not  be  a  good  place  to  question  her,  par- 
ticularly if  she  turns  out  innocent/'  the  detective  said, 
his  keen  eyes  fixed  on  Peter  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion, which  passed  away  as  if  by  magic  the  instant 
Peter  raised  his  eyes. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  cloakroom,  then,"  Peter  said;  "no 
one  will  interrupt  us  there." 

"In  the  cloakroom,  then/'  the  detective  said. 

"That  is  the  room,  there,"  Peter  said.  "If  you  will 
go  to  it  I  will  bring  Miss  Redmond  to  you,  though  I 
am  satisfied  that  the  charge  will  be  found  unwarranted 
by  the  facts." 

"Precious  sly  fox,"  murmured  the  detective,  as  he 
went  toward  the  cloakroom.  "If  he  had  been  accused 
I  would  have  arrested  him  on  his  looks.  Meanwhile, 
I'm  sorry  for  the  pretty  girl/' 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE     BURNING     E  Y  E  S  . 

"Miss  Redmond,  I  would  like  to  see  you  alone  for  a 
few  minutes." 

The  oily  voice  of  Peter  falling  on  her  ear  was  the 
first  intimation  to  Viola  that  he  was  near  her. 

She  started,  flashed  a  swift  look  of  roguish  chagrin 
at  her 'two  companions  who  had  been  teasing  her,  and 
stepped  from  behind  the  counter  after  him. 

She  had  no  idea  that  there  was  anything  more  in  his 
invitation  than  av  desire  on  his  part  to  make  a  plea 
of  business  the  excuse  for  talking  with  her. 

Her  promotion  had  acted  as  a*  sort  of  assurance  to 
her  that  she  was  under  the  protection  of  Mr.  Hanhv^rj ; 
and  she  was  not  afraid  of  Peter. 

She  followed  him  in  silence 'to  the  cloakroom,  rather 
wondering  why  he  led  her  thither,  and  staring  "in  un- 
feigned surprise  when  she  saw  the  man  who  was  Wait- 
ing there. 

"This  is  Miss  Redmond,"  Peter  said  to  the  <kuc- 
tive.  "Miss  Redmond,  this  gentleman  wisht-  tt,  as-k 
you  a  f ew  questions.  I  hope  you  will  answer  them  with 
perfect  frankness." 

Viola  stared  in  blank  amazement  as  she  noted  the 
solemn,*  .almost  pityiiie  £sfe€  of  the  'detective.  ; 


The  Burning  Eyes.  77 

you  the  person  who  took  some  laces  from  this 
store  to  the  house  of  Miss  Eunice  Carroll?"  the  de- 
tective asked. 

"Yes,  sir/' -Viola  answered  wonderingly. 

The.  eyes  of  the  detective  were  fixed  on  her  as  if 
they  would  search  out  the  truth  an  the  very  depths  of 
her  soul.  .  .  - 

He  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  believe  in  advance 
of  complete  evidence  that  she  was  guilty  of  theft.-  And 
yet  in  his  experience  there  had  been  cases  too>  strange 
to  enable  him  to  say  from  her  appearance  that  she  was 
guiltless/ 

"Do -you  remember  seeing  some  jewels  lying  on  her 
dressing  table?"  he  asked. 

A  startled  look  leaped  into  her  brown  eyes.  She 
remembered  the  words  Eunice  had  uttered  to  her,  and 
the  thrill  of  impending  danger  shook  her. 

"I — I  do,"  she  answered,  her  little  hands  coming 
together,  and  clinging. 

"There  was  a  diamond  ring  lost  from  the  table,  and 
its  loss  was  discovered  just  after  your  departure/'  he 
said,  with  slow  emphasis,  as  if  he  would  have  every 
word  sink :\  into  hei-  brain. 

At  the$e  words,  which  were  so  little  short -of  accusa- 
tion, the  high  spirit  which  was  dormant  in  her  soul  was 
aroused ;^the, queenly  little  head  was  thrown  back;  the 
brown  eyes  flamed  with  indignation. 


78  The  Burning  Eyes. 

"And  does  she  dare  to  say  that  I  took  her  ring?" 
she  cried.  "As  if  I  would  touch  it!  How  dare  she 
say  such  a  thing?" 

4That  is  just  what  I  said,  Viola,"  Peter  said,  with 
an  air  of  anxious  solicitude.  "Of  course  such  a  charge 
must  be  proven." 

The  detective  turned  from  the  flushed  face  of  Viola 
to  look  at  Peter. 

"There  has  been  no  charge,"  he  said  dryly.  "The 
jewels  were  said  to  be  there,  and  one  of  them  is  said  to 
have  been  lost.  This  young  lady  is  not  accused.  But, 
like  the  maid,  who  was  also  in  the  room,  she  is  properly 
under  suspicion,  and  must  remain  so  until  she  has  per- 
mitted such  steps  to  be  taken  as  will  prove  her  inno- 
cence. Even  if  I  feel  obliged  to  arrest  her,  it  will  prove 
nothing  against  her.  Innocent  persons  have  been  ar- 
rested." 

"Arrest  me  P  gasped  Viola,  quivering  with  terror  at 
the  mere  word. 

"You  shall  not  be  arrested  if  I  can  save  you,  Viola, " 
murmured  the  oily  voice  of  Peter. 

"I  only  spoke  of  that  as  an  extreme  measure/'  the 
detective  said.  "I  suppose  you  will  make  no  objec- 
tions to  a  search." 

Viola  flushed  and  drew  herself  up. 

"Is  that  necessary?"  she  asked,     "I  assure  ^ou  that 


The  Burning  Eyes.  79 

I.  did  not  go  near  enough  to  the  table  to  touch  a  thing 
on  it." 

"I  cannot  insist  upon  a  search/'  he  said;  "but  I  have 
a  warrant  for  your  arrest,  and  when  you  are  in  custody 
you  will  be  forced  to  submit.  If  you  are  innocent  it 
will  be  better  to  acquiesce  now." 

Viola  tottered. 

A  warrant  for  her  arrest !  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the 
disgrace  was  hers  already. 

"I  will  call  Miss  Flynn,"  Peter  said,  and  was  about 
to  go  to  the  door  when  the  detective  stopped  him  by  a 
quiet  yet  firm  touch  on  the  arm. 

'"One  moment;  I  will  tell  you  when  I  need  your  as- 
sistance. Miss  Redmond,  will  you  point  out  to  me  the 
garment  among  these  which  is  yours?0 

Viola  went  with  uneven  steps  to  where  her  sack 
hung  on  its  hook,  and  took  it  down. 

She  handed  it  to  the  detective,  who  passed  it  at  once 
to  Peter,  saying  as  he  did  so : 

"Please  examine  the  pockets/' 

"May  I?"  Peter  said,  looking  at  Viola  as  if  to  have 
her  comprehend  that  he  was  her  firm  friend. 

She  could  only  nod  her  head,  afraid  to  open  her  lips 
lest  they  should  betray  her  and  let  out  the  sob  of  feas 
which  she  was  trying  to  suppress. 

Peter  thrust  his  bony  fingers  into  the  pockets,  feel- 
ing a  thrill  of  delight  at  -he  thought  that  the  little 


8o  The  Burning  Eyes. 

hands  he  would  have  given  so  much  to  hold  in  his  were 
in  the  habit  of  snuggling  in  these  same  pockets. 

His  face  wore  an  expression  of  sorrow  and  distress, 
as  if  the  task  were  not  at  all  to  his  liking,  but  sud- 
denly changed. 

He  stared  from  her  to  the  detective. 

"Well?"  demanded  the  latter  sharply,  as  with  a  stride 
he  had  the  coat  in  his  grasp.  "What  have  you  found? 
Let  me  see  it/' 

Reluctantly,  and  as  if  he  was  in  the  greatest  pain 
in  doing  so,  Peter  drew  from  the  pocket  a  ring  set  with 
one  large  brilliant. 

"Oh,  Viola !"  he  cried. 

"Ah!"  said  the  detective,  snatching  the  ring  from 
the  bony  fingers  of  the  other  arid  turning  to  Viola, 
"how  came  this  in  your  pocket  ?  Is  it  yours  ?" 

Viola  stared  with  wide-open,  incredulous  eyes;  her 
face  became  ghastly  pale,  and  a  terrible  fear  smofe  her 
heart. 

"Had  some  one  played  a  trick  on  her?"  was  the  ques- 
tion that  formed  in  her  brain; 

"It— it  is  not  mine,"  she  stammered. 

"How  came  it  in  your  pocket?"  demanded  the  de- 
tective. 

"I — I  do  not  know.  Some  one  must  have  placed  it 
there,"  she  said.  "I  know  nothing  about  it.  It  is  some 
conspiracy  against  me." 


The  Burning  Eyes.  8 1 

The  detective  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He-had  heard 
the  same  plea  so  many  times. 

"It  may  be  some  accident/'  Peter  suggested,  rub- 
bing his  hands  together  in  a  way  to  make  the  detective 
look  at  him  in  disgust. 

•"It  may  be,"  the  detective  responded,  and  cast  a  look 
on  Viola  that  made  her  cry  out : 

"Oh,  sir,  dor  not  take  me  to  prison!  I  am  innocent; 
indeed  I  am  innocent.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  presence 
of  the  ring  there.  I  would  not  have  touched  it  for  all 
the  world !" 

"Must  you  take  her  to  prison,  sir?"  Peter  asked. 

"I  must.  It  is  hard  to  believe  her  guilty;  but  I  have 
no  choice.  Come,  Miss  Redmond,  you  will  be  wise  to 
put  on  your  coat  and  come  with  me,  without  disturb- 
ance. It  will  be  better  for  you  in  any  case." 

Viola  became  so  ghastly  pale  that  both  the  men 
sprang  toward  her,  but  she  waved  them  aside  and  sank 
into  a  chair,  murmuring: 

"I  shall  be  better  in  a  moment.  I  am  innocent, 
but  I  will  go  with  you.  Oh,  if  Walter  were  only  here !" 

Peter  bit  his  lip  and  turned  yellow  with  anger. 

"Will  you  let  me  have  a  few  words  alone  with  her?" 
he  asked  of  the  detective.  "I  have  good  reason  for 
asking.  She  cannot  escape.  I  will  not  keep  you  long." 

The  detective  hesitated,  and  then  seemed  to  make 
up  his  mind  -quickly. 


82  The  Burning  Eyes. 

"Yes;  but  do  not  keep  me  long." 

He  retired  from  the  room,  and  Peter  glided  to  the 
side  of  the  overwhelmed  and  prostrated  girl. 

"Viola,"  he  murmured  i-n  her  ear,  "I  can  save  you 
yet,  if  you  will  but  listen  to  me." 

She  looked  up  into  his  face  with  burning  eyes,  seem- 
ing to  search  his  soul  through  the  mask  that  hid  it. 
Then  she  shuddered  and  turned  away  with  a  pitiful 
moan  of  anguish. 

"I  know  you  are  innocent,"  he  said,  "but  no  one  else 
will  believe  it.  The  evidence  is  such  that  all  will  think 
you  guilty,  and  your  whole  life  will  be  ruined.  You 
will  be  taken  to  prison,  and  after  the  trial  you  will  be 
sent  to  the  penitentiary." 

"Why  do  you  torture  me?"  she  wailed,  turning  from 
him,  and  making  as  if  to  rise  and  flee  to  the  door. 

"I  do  not  say  it  to  torture  you,"  he  answered  eagerly, 
in  his  wheedling  voice,  "but  in  order  that  you  may 
understand.  There  is  one  way  of  escape,  however,  if 
you  will  grasp  it." 

"Escape!"  she  said. 

"I  do  not  mean  to  run  away,"  he  answered.  "You 
cannot  escape  that  way.  The  police  would  soon  hunt 
you  down.  I  meant  that  you  can  keep  out  of  prison, 
and  escape  all  the  infamy  of  this  charge." 

She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  should  have  melted 
his  heart. 


The  Burning  Eyes.  83 

"Point  out  the  way/'  she  said  miserably. 

"I  love  you  madly,  Viola.  Be  my  wife  and  I  will 
save  you.  Give  me  your  promise  and  you  shall  never 
go  to  prison/' 

"I  cannot  be  your  wife,"  she  wailed.  "I  love  an- 
other. Ah,  Heaven,  why  is  he  not  here  to  protect 
me?" 

"You  love  Walter  Hardman,"  Peter  said  huskily. 
"I  know  that,  and  I  know  the  conditions  of  his  going 
away.  But  do  you  think  his  father  would  let  you  marry 
Walter  with  such  a  charge  as  this  against  you?  Do 
you  think  that  even  Walter  would  wed  you  when  you 
have  been  sentenced  to  prison?" 

"Oh,  do  not  torture  me.  Let  me  go  to  prison  and 
die,  for  I  know  I  shall  die  of  shame  and  agony  when  I 
am  in  that  awful  place." 

"And  your  mother,"  he  went  on,  "do  you  think  she 
will  find  anybody  to  care  for  her  while  you  are  in 
prison — do  you  think  any  one  will  wish  to  help  the 
mother  of  one  who  is  a  convicted  thief?" 

"Why  do  you  tempt  me?"  she  cried  fiercely.  "I  do 
not  love  you  and  never  can.  You  know  it.  Let  me  go 
to  prison." 

"Think  of  your  future !"  he  said  angrily.  "Do  you 
know  what  it  will  be?  Do  you  know  the  fate  of  the 
outcast?  Do  you  know  that  you  will  never  again  be 


84  The  Burning  Eyes. 

able  to  secure  work  in  this  great  city?  You  will  have 
to  starve.  Will  you  accept  my -offer  and  be  my- wife?" 

"I  cannot,"  she  answered.  "Oh,  sir,  why  can  you 
not  be  generous?  Why,  if  you  can  save  me,  do  you 
let  me  go  to  prison?  Why  do  you  exact  a  price  so  ter- 
rible? Save  me  and  I  will  give  you  my -gratitude/' 

"If -.you  will  be  my  wife  I  will  save  you,  not  efse. 
It  will  cost  me  a  great  deal  of  money/' 

"Walter  will  repay  you  every  penny  and  more/ 
Viola  cried,  grasping  him  by  the  arm  in  her  eager  en- 
treaty. . 

"I  know  nothing  of  Waiter  Hardman,"  he- said,  with 
an, angry  hiss.  "Be  my  wife  and  I  will  save  you.  Re- 
fuse, and  I  will  call  in  the  detective/' 

"I  must  refuse/'  she  wailed.  "What  can  I  do  but 
refuse?" 

He  glided  to  the  door  and  placed  his  hand  on  the 
knob,  a.  malignant  expression  on  his  hideous  face, 

"Once  more  I  give  you  the  chance,"'  he  said.  "Will 
you  save  yourself  by  becoming  my  wife?" 

"I  cannot.    Oh,  mother,  what  will  become  of  you?'* 

He  opened  the  door  and -beckoned. the  man  in. 

"Take  her  with  you,"  he  said. 

The  detective  fixed  his  eyes  on  Peter  Harriett!  foff 
but  a  second,  then,  turned  to  Viola  and  said  kindly :  , 

"Come,  my  girl/'.       . -•  ••'-,.    , 


;'          CHAPTER  XI. 

A    DETECTIVE    BY    HER    SIDE. 

Like  one  bereft  of  all  power  of  will,  Viola  donned 
her  coat  and  hat,  and-  prepared  to  follow  the  detec- 
tive. ; 

."Pull -your  veil  down  over  your  face," 'he  said  curtly, 
but  not  unkindly.  "And  you  may  go  out  ahfead  of  me. 

Do  not  try  to  escape.     I  will  join  you  on  the  sidewalk." 

•  •  •        •  ••''..       ...... 

She  did  ekactly  as  he  bakle  her,  and  was  moving 

away,  when  once  more  she  heard  the  voice  of  Peter 
whisper  in  her  ear : 

'There  is  yet  a  chance.  Say  that  you  will  be  my 
wife." 

"I  cannot;"  she  wailed. ; 

"Please  leave  her  alone,' -r the  detective  said  peremp- 
torily. 

Peter  scowled  and  let  Viola  pass  him. 

She  went  into  the  crowded  store  with  her  head  down 
and  her  feet  dragging,,  feeling  as  if  every  one  there 
knew  that  she  was  going  to  prison  on  the  charge  of 
stealing. 

Ah!  it  is ; not  guilt  alone  that  brings  horror.  The 
mere  touch  of  the  finger  of  the  law  seems  -to  cover  a 
sensitive  §^ul  with  shame. 


86  A  Detective  by  Her  Side. 

She  stepped  into  the  street  like  one  in  a  dream. 
The  detective  took  his  place  by  her  side  and  said,  in  a 
low  tone: 

"Walk  ahead  and  turn  the  first  corner.  No  one  need 
know  that  you  are  under  arrest.  No  one  knows  me. 
I  will  join  you  when  there  is  no  one  to  see." 

She  did  as  he  bade  her.  It  seemed  to  her  that  if 
he  had  told  her  to  walk  to  her  destruction  she  would 
have  done  it  in  the  same  mechanical  way. 

When  he  joined  her  he  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
block,  going  toward  Seventh  Avenue.  He  looked  pity- 
ingly down  at  her.  She  did  not  speak.  The  horror  of 
her  situation  robbed  her  of  speech. 

"Will  you  tell  me  all  about  this  matter?1'  he  said 
to  her. 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell  you/'  she  said,  in  a  low  tone 
of  utter  misery. 

"I  am  sure  there  must  be/'  he  answered.  "If  you  are 
guilty,  there  is  that  to  tell.  If  you  are  innocent,  there 
must  be  something  to  tell.  You  spoke  of  a  conspiracy. 
Who  should  conspire  against  you?" 

She  looked  up  at  the  immobile,  sphinxlike  face  and 
shook  her  head. 

"I  suppose  I  was  mad/'  she  said.  "I  do  not  know 
who  should  conspire  against  me." 

The  very  hopelessness  betrayed  in  her  sweet  voice 
impressed  and  touched  him. 


A  Detective  by  Her  Side.  87 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  that  fellow  in  the  store  said 
to  you  when  you  were  alone?"  he  asked. 

"He  said  he  would  save  me  if  I  would  marry  him." 

"And  you  refused?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  love  another." 

The  detective  gnawed  his  mustache,  and  looked 
down  at  the  bowed  head. 

"Did  that  man  back  there  say  how  he  would  save 
you?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"No,  sir." 

"Who  is  the  man  you  love?  Has  this  man  anything 
to  do  with  your  love  story  in  any  way?" 

"No,"  answered  poor  Viola,  too  miserable  to  give 
much  heed  to  her  answers. 

"Tell  me  the  name  of  the  man  you  love.  You  know 
I  can  find  it  out  by  asking  that  man  back  there." 

That  was  true  enough.  There  was  no  reason  for 
concealment.  But,  oh,  would  it  get  into  the  papers? 
How  Mr.  Hardman  would  hate  her  then!  And  what 
would  Walter  do?  Maybe  he  would  not  hear  of  it. 

"His  name  must  not  get  into  the  papers,"  she 
pleaded. 

"His  name  shall  not  get  in  through  me,"  he  said,  in 
a  tone  that  made  her  nave  faith  in  him.  "What  is  his 
name  ?" 


88  A-  Detective  by  Her  Side. 

•"Walter  Hardman,"  she  answered. 

He  looked  at  her  curiously. 
.  "The  son  of  Silas  Hardman ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  does  the  old  man  know?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"Yes,  sir.  But  Walter  has  gone  away  to  remain  for 
a  year.  We  are  not  to  be  married  unless  we  love  at  the 
end  of  a  year." 

The  detective  pursed  up  his  mouth,  as  if  about  to 
whistle. 

"Mr.  ^Walter  is  away,,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir;  in  Europe.  Oh,  he  must  not  know  of 
this." 

"And  you  say -his  father  approved  of  your  intended 
marriage?"  he  queried,  without  paying  any  attention  to 
her  last  remark. 

"He  didn't  approve,  perhaps,  but  he  was  willing,  if 
we  continued  to  love.  I  know  he  would  have  preferred 
Walter  to  marry  Miss  Carroll!" 

"Miss  Carroll !"  exclaimed  the  detective,  with  a 
startled  look  down  at  the  bowed  head. 

"Yes;  she  who  accuses  me  of  stealing  her  ring/' 

"Did  she  know  you  were  to  marry  Walter  Hard* 
man?"  he  asked. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  she  did,"  Viola  replied. 

"Have  you  ever  been  sent  out  with  laces  before  ?"  he 


A  Detective  by  Her  Side.  89 

"No,  sir.  Other  girls  have  been.  I  only  went  to  the 
lace  department  a  few  days , ago.  It  was  a  promotion 
for  me." 

"Promoted,  eh?"  he  said,  in  a  musing  way,  and  then 
went  on  in  silence. 

Viola  did  not  note  his  silence,  for  she  had  only  an- 
swered mechanically,  and  because  she  had  felt  that  she 
might  as  well,  since  concealment  was  impossible. 

The  man  walked,  by  her  side,  telling  her  when  to 
turn,  and  guarding  her  against  being  run  over  when 
they  crossed  the  streets. 

She  did  not  see  where  he  was  leading  her,  and  she 
did  not  care.  Her  thoughts  wandered  from  Walter 'to 
her  mother,  and  back,  again.  They  were  her  whole 
world. 

Suddenly  the  detective  recalled  her  to  herself  by  say- 
ing sharply : 

"Have  you  any  money  in  your  pocket?" 

"A  little.    Three  dollars/' 

"Here  are  twenty.-  I  cannot  afford  to  give  you  any 
more.  I  want  you  to  go.  out  of  .the  city.  Go  into  the 
country  and  hide,  I  think  you  are  innocent,  and  there 
is  no  need  for  you  to  have  your  name  in  every  paper  in 
the  city.  You  must  escape  from  me.  Do  you  under- 
stand?". •.  ,\ 

Viola  stared  at  hiui.    ,      ' 

mother ,!"  she  stammered. 


90  A  Detective  by  Her  Side. 

"I  will  do  what  I  can  for  her.  But  you  go.  Take 
the  cars  at  the  Grand  Central,  and  go  somewhere  in 
the  country.  Or  to  some  other  city.  Then  write  to 
your  mother.  I  think  you  are  innocent,  and  I  intend  to 
clear  you.  Go  quickly  now." 

She  seemed  dazed  for  a  moment  before  she  could 
grasp  the  idea  that  he  really  was  giving  her  her  free- 
dom. 

Then  she  seized  his  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"I  am  innocent,"  she  sobbed,  "and  Heaven  wrill  bless 
you  for  your  goodness.  Oh,  thank  you!  thank  you!" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SNATCHING     A     CHILD. 

Peter  Harriem  looked  after  the  detective  as  he  fol- 
lowed Viola  out  of  the  store,  and  then  glided  swiftly  to 
where  his  hat  and  coat  hung,  and  hurriedly  threw  them 
on,  muttering  ; 

"I  don't  like  the  way  that  fellow  looked  at  me  and  at 
her.  I  half  believe  he  has  fallen  in  love  with  her. 
That  wondrous  beauty  of  hers  is  enough  to  turn  any 
fellow's  head/1 

He  cameJace  to  face  with  Mr.  Hardman  as  he  was 
putting  his  coat  on. 

"I  was  just  looking  for  you/'  the  head  of  the  firm 
said.  "I  would  like " 

"Do  not  stop  me  now,"  whispered  Peter  eagerly. 
"I  have  just  set  in  motion  the  little  plot  of  ours.  I 
must  go  at  once.  I  do  not  know  wrhen  I  shall  return. 
Everything  is  so  that  it  will  go  on  without  me  here/' 

"Go,  then.  I  will  see  that  everything  runs  as  it 
should." 

Peter  glided  from  the  store,  and  the  old  man,  with  a 
cynical  curl  of  his  thin  lips,  murmured : 

"A  useful  fellow  when  well  controlled/' 

Peter,  meanwhile,  was  making  his  way  swiftly 
through  the  crowded  store,  and  down  the  street. 


92  Snatching  a  Cl/ilu 

The  detective  and  Viola  were  not  in  sight,  but  Peter 
was  not  long  in  making  up  his  mind  what  to  do. 

He  ran  to  the  nearest  corner  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  street. 

They  were  not  there.  The  next  thing  was  to  run 
back  to  the  other  corner,  and  this  he  did. 

He  saw  the  pair  walking  down  the  block,  and  crossed 
over  to  the  other  side  in  order  that  he  might  the  better 
follow  them. 

His  experience  in  following  Viola  on  other  occasions 
was  of  use  to  him  now,  having  given  him  a  good  idea 
of  the  manner  in  which  it  should  be  done  to  be  sue- 

_',.«.  :  ...  -a-      : 

cessful. 

Moreover,  nothing  could  be  more  in  keeping  with  his 
stealthy  nature  than  this  sly  spying  on  another. 

A  trained  detective  "shadow"  could  not  have  done 
better  than  he-  did. 

He  followed  them  as  he  went,  and  noted  how  they 
talked  together,  forming  his  own  conclusions  of  what 
their  conversation  must  be  about. 

Then  he  saw  the  detective  give  her  something, 
though  he  could  not  tell  what  it  was  until  he  saw  her 
turn  away,  and  leave  the  man  who  should  have  taken 
her  to  prison. 

••"He  gave  her  money,  so  that  she  could  get  out  of  the 
£ity>"  sai$  Beter,  in  a  tone  of  conviction.  "It  was  as  I 


Snatching  a  Child.  ? 

.'  ^' 

thought,     He  has  fallen  in  love  with  her  pretty  E 
and  is  assisting  her  to  escape." 

A  fiendish  smile  crossed  his  lean  face,  as  he  saw  the 
two  separate. 

"He -little  knows/'  he  muttered,  "that  he  is  helping 
me  more  than  he  is  her.  Now  she  is  a  fugitive  from 
justice,  and  she  will  fall  into  my  power  so  much  the 
more  easily." 

The  detective  followed  Viola  to  the' corner  and  saw 
her  speeding  uptown.  He  shoqk  his  head  pityingly, 
murmuring: 

"Poor  girl !  She  is  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy  which 
I  will  ferret  out.  It  seems  quite  clear,  but  it  will  not 
he  easy  to  prove  my  belief." 

He  turned  dow,n,the  avenue,  while Viola  was  has- 
tening up  it.  Peter,  with  stealthy  movement,  yet  mak- 
ing himself  as  inconspicuous  as  possible,  was  gliding 
;--r  Viola. 

Poor  Viola !  her  heart  was  throbbing  with  the  fear  of 
one  who  has  felt  the  clutch  of  the  law  on  her  arm,  and. 
who  does  not  know  when  again  it  will  be  there. 

Her  one  instinct  was  to  get  out  of  the  city  as  quickly 
as  possible;,  she  , dared  not  even  go  to  her  mother  to 
explain. to  her  what  had  happened,  and  what  she  in- 
tended to  do. 

So  she  sped  up  the  avenue  until  she  came  to  Forty- 


94  Snatching  a  Child. 

second  Street,  where  she  turned  toward  the  East  Side? 
and  kept  on  until  she  reached  the  depot. 

There  was  the  customary  turmoil  of  moving  crowds 
of  passengers,  some  going  away,  and  others  returning 
to  the  city.  The  street  was  alive  with  electric  cars  and 
automobiles,  and  trucks,  and  wagons. 

Viola  saw  nothing  of  it  all.  She  was  bent  on  getting 
into  a  train  which  would  carry  her  away  from  the 
awful  peril  of  prison. 

She  turned  toward  the  depot  of  the  Hudson  River 
division,  because  it  seemed  the  nearest,  and  was  about 
to  enter  the  first  doorway,  when  she  heard  a  scream  of 
terror. 

The  cry  came  from  the  ligs  of  a  girl  dressed  as  a 
nurse,  and  as  Viola  followed  the  direction  in  which  she 
was  looking,  she  saw  at  once  the  cause  of  the  scream. 

A  pretty  little  boy,  with  golden  curls  hanging  down 
his  back,  and  showing  by  his  costly  dress  that  he  was 
the  child  of  wealthy  parents,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
street,  apparently  paralyzed  with  terror. 

A  carriage  drawn  by  two  frightened  horses  was 
dashing  down  the  street  from  the  direction  of  Forty- 
third  Street. 

The  child  would  be  run  over  and  killed  if  he  were 
not  snatched  away  from  where  he  stood,  and  every- 
body knew  it,  but  somehow  each  was  watching  for  the 
other  to  do  it. 


Snatching  a  Child.  95 

"My  boy !  oh,  my  boy !"  fell  on  the  ears  of  Viola. 

She  turned,  and  in  the  flash  of  an  eye  saw  a  noble- 
looking  man  of  middle  age  prostrate  on  the  top  step  of 
the  low  stoop  leading  to  the  waiting  room.  A  crutch 
by  his  side  told  her  the  story  of  what  had  happened. 

He  had  forgotten  a  wounded  foot,  and  had  leaped  to 
the  rescue  of  his  threatened  child,  and  had  fallen. 

All  this  occupied  but  a  second  of  time.  It  seemed  as 
if  everything  here  described  had  happened  at  the  same 
moment. 

The  excitement  which  filled  the  atmosphere  about 
her  aroused  Viola  from  the  stupor  of  misery  into 
which  she  had  fallen,  and  while  her  mind  was  mechan- 
ically taking  in  all  that  her  eyes  had  seen,  she  had  pre- 
pared herself  to  act. 

The  infuriated  horses  were  almost  upon  the  little 
boy,  whose  blue  eyes  were  fixed  on  them  with  an  awful 
horror  in  them,  when  Viola  leaped  from  where  she 
stood,  and  snatched  the  child  in  her  arms  from  under 
the  very  hoofs  of  the  plunging  animals. 

Then  something  struck  her,  and  she  was  whirled 
around  and  tossed  toward  the  sidewalk,  her  senses 
reeling. 

She  was  only  conscious  of  clinging  to  "he  child  and 
of  giving  him  up  to  a  white-haired  old  lady,  who 
snatched  him  to  her  bosom  with  a  wild  cry  of  joy. 

Then  she  swooned,  and  knew  no  more   until  she 


96  Snatching  a  Child. 

opened  her  eyes  and  became  conscious  of  several  things 
all  at  once. 

She  was  on  a  railroad  train,  which  was  moving,  and 
the  face  of  an  old  lady,  which  seemed  dimly  familiar, 
was  looking  down  on  her. 

She  gazed  into  the  face  for  a  moment  with  a  blank 
expression  in  her  brown  eyes,  then  came  a  sudden 
realization  of  what  had  happened  to  her. 

The  saving  of  the  child  was  nothing,  but  her  own 
misery  was  paramount. 

He  was  safe,  while  she  was  a  prisoner  fleeing  from 
the  grasp  of  the  law. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  cried,  trying  to  rise. 

"You  are  in  good  hands,  my  dear,"  was  the  soothing 
answer,  as  the  old  lady  pressed  her  gently  back.  "You 
were  injured  a  little  on  the  arm,  and  the  only  thing  to 
do  seemed  to  bring  you  right  into  the  car.  We  could' 
not  leave  you  to  be  cared  for  by  strangers  when  you 
had  saved  our  darling  from  a  terrible  death." 

"We  are  leaving  the  cit}',"  murmured  Viola,  compre- 
hending that  that  was  exactly  what  she  most  wished. 

"Yes,  we  had  a  stateroom  in  the  car,  so,  you  see,  you 
are  quite  private.  And  we  found  a  surgeon  who  at- 
tended to  you  at  once,  and  said  the  injury  was  so 
trifling  that  you  would  not  notice  it  in  a  few  days." 

Viola  turned  and  looked  inquiringly  at  her  shoulder, 


Snatching  a  Child.  97 

and  saw  that  her  sleeve  had  been  cut  away  to  permit  an 
examination. 

"I  was  with  you  all  the  lime,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady. 
"And-  we  are  alone,  now.  My  son  and  little  Rupert  are 
outside  in  the  car/' 

"I  am  sure  I  can  get  up  now/'  Viola  said,  in  a  low 
tone. 

She  felt  that  she  must  get  by  herself  in  order  that 
she  might  decide  what  to  do. 

"You  must  not.  Why  snould  you?  Are  you  wor- 
ried about  what  your  friends  at  home  will  think  of 
your  absence?" 

Viola's  eyes  answered  yes. 

"I  had  thought  of  that,"  the  old  lady  said,  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  "You  may  write  a  telegram  here,  and 
it  can  be  sent  from  the  first  station.  That  will  reassure 
your  friends,  and  you  may  tften  go  home  with  us  and 
remain  there  until  you  are  quite  well.  Won't  that  do?" 

She  was  going  away  from  the  city,  where  her  danger 
lay,  and  there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  accept 
the  hospitality  of  the  people  for  whom  she  had  endan- 
gered her  life. 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  "that  will  do.  I  do  not 
'like  to  be  a  trouble  to  you,  but  I  suppose  I  cannot  help 
it  now." 

The  old  lady  smiled  sweetly. 


98  Snatching  a  Child. 

'That  is  the  way  to  look  at  it.  And  if  you  only 
knew  how  grateful  we  are  to  you,  you  would  not  have 
any  feeling  of  discomfort  in  accepting  every  attention 
we  can  offer.  Perhaps  I  had  better  write  the  telegram, 
at  your  dictation.  I  will  get  a  blank/' 

She  left  the  room  to  get  the  telegraph  blank,  and 
Viola  had  a  chance  to  consider  her  situation. 

"I  must  not  betray  who  I  am,"  she  said.  "It  is  cer- 
tain that  my  name  will  get  into  the  papers,  in  spite  of 
what  that  good  detective  can  do.  If  I  have  enemies, 
they  will  do  all  they  can  to  ruin  me.  I  must  telegraph 
to  mamma,  but  I  must  not  put  my  name  to  the  message. 
I  will  sign  it  Viola.  That  will  tell  her  everything." 

"'Now,"  said  the  old  lady,  returning,  "what  shall  I 
say?" 

Viola  studied  out  the  words  for  a  moment,  and  the 
telegram  was  written  at  her  dictation. 

"Do  not  worry  about  me.  I  am  quite  safe,  and  will 
write  to-night.  VIOLA/' 

"'Viola!  What  a  pretty  name/*  the  old  lady  said, 
soothing  back  the  brown  curls  that  clustered  around 
the  low,  white  brow.  "But  do  you  not  wish  to  say 
where  you  are  going?" 

"I  can  tell  that  when  I  write,"  Viola  said. 

"And  now  to  whom  is  this  to  be  sent?"  the  lady 
asked. 


Snatching  a  Chilti.  99 

Viola  started  in  dismay.  She  must  tell  her  mother's 
name,  after  all,  or  the  message  would  not  reach  her. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  useless  to  hope  to  escape. 
Somehow  or  other  it  would  be  sure  to  leak  out  that  she 
was  accused  of  theft,  and  there  would  be  no  asylum  for 
her  anywhere. 

The  kind  old  lady  sat  there  waiting  patiently,  yet 
wonderingly.  She  could  not  comprehend  the  manifest 
agitation  of  the  beautiful  girl. 

Viola's  thoughts  sped  quickly.  Something  must  be 
done.  Her  mother  must  know,  or  she  would  become 
ill  worrying.  Why  not  take  the  chances? 

''Mrs.  Kate  Redmond/'  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  and 
added  the  address. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN    FRONT    OF    A    MIRROR. 

The  old  lady  went  out  to.  give  the  telegram  to  the 
conductor,  so  that  he  might  send  it  from  the  first  sta- 
tion. 

"She  knew  by  the  address  that  we  live  in  a, tenement 
house,"  Viola  murmured  to  herself.  "'I  could  see  that 
by  the  look  of  her  face.  I  wonder  if  she  will  be  just  as 
kind  to  me  now?  Well,  it  does  not  matter.  When  t 
get  to  the  end  of  the  journey,  I  shall  be  able  to  go  on  if 
she  does  not  seem  to  want  me." 

But  the  expression  on.  the  kind  face  was. the  same 
when  the  old  lady  returned,  and  Viola  knew  that  she 
had  been  unjust.  , ,_ 

"Then  your  name  is  Viola  Redmond?"  the  lady  said. 
"I  suppose  now  you  would  like  to  know  what  my  name 
is?" 

"Yes,  please,"  answered  Viola. 

''My  name  is  Beekman;  my  sot}  is  Howard  Beekman, 
and  the  little  boy  whose  life  you  saved  is  my  grandson, 
Rupert  Beekman.  My  son  is  temporarily  lame  from 
aft  accident,  and  we  are  going  up  to  the  old  family 
place  to  spend  Christmas,  and  be  quiet.  You < will  like 
Clover  Hill"  ' 


In  Front  of  a  Mirror.  IOI 

"I  shall  not  trouble  you  for  long,"  Viola  said. 

"You  shall  not  go  until  your  shoulder  is  quite  well," 
Mrs.  Beekman  said*  "But:  we  are  not  ^oitig  to  think  of 
that.  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  go  imahl  r^iist.  Why, 
I  shall  be  lonely  up  there  unless  I  have  •  sortie 'pn>  with. 
me.  I  was  g'oing  to  send  down  to  the  city  for  one  of 
rny  young  friends  to  come  up  to  me.  I  will  promise 
you  plenty  of  sleighing  and  skating,  if  you  care  for 
such  things." 

Viola  thought  the  lady  must  still  be  under 'a  misap- 
prehension concerning  her.  She  said  in  a  quiet,  sad 
tone : 

"I  am  only  a  working  girl,  Mrs.  Beekman.  I  though 
you  knew  that  from  the  address  I  gave  you." 

Mrs,  Beekman  smiled  sweetly,  and  stroked  the  round 
cheek. 

"Of  course  I  guessed  it,  my  dear.  Did  it  make  any 
difference  to  you  that  Rupert  was  rich  when  you  saved 
him?" 

"No;  I  only  saw  that  he  was  in  danger,"  Viola  an- 
swered. 

"And  do  you  think  it  makes  any  difference  to  us  that 
yon  are.  poor?  The  only  difference  it  makes  is  that  it 
gives  .me  a  chance  I  would  not  have  had  if  you  had 
been  rich,"  .  ,  : 

.     Viola  looked  at  her,  but  did  not  say  anything/ 


IO2  In  Front  of  a  Mirror. 

"If  you  have  to  work  for  a  living,"  said  the  old  ladyf 
"does  it  make  any  difference  to  you  what  you  do?" 

"Not  much,"  Viola  answered,  her  brown  eyes  fixed 
on  the  face  she  was  learning  to  like. 

*Th<en  you  must  remain  with  me  as  my  companion. 
I  have  been  looking  for  some  one  to  take  the  place  for 
a  long  time,  and  I  think  you  have  been  sent  to  me. 
Will  you  stay  with  me?" 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  so  glad!"  Viola  cried  eagerly.  "I 
will  stay  as  long  as  you  will  keep  me,  and  I  will  try  so 
hard  to  please  you.  Only  perhaps  I  shall  not  know 
what  to  do." 

Mrs.  Beekman  laughed  and  patted  her  cheek. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  that,"  she  said.  "The  duties  are 
not  difficult  to  master.  You  are  sure  your  mother  will 
not  mind?" 

Viola  thought  of  the  sweet-faced  invalid  all  alone  in 
the  tenement  house,  and  the  tears  started  to  her  eyes. 
iWhat  a  cruel  fate  it  was  that  divided  them! 

"She  will  do  the  best  she  can,"  she  answered,  and 
then  burst  out  with  a  choking  sob:  "Oh,  what  shall 
I  do?" 

"'Something  is  troubling  you,"  said  Mrs.  Beekman 
kindly.  "Is  it  anything  I  can  help  you  about?" 

Viola  shook  her  head.  She  did  not  dare  tell  even  so 
kind  a  person  as  this  her  true  story. 

She  knew  that  the  evidence  was  all  against  her.  and 


In  Front  of  a  Mirror.  103 

she  felt  that  no  one  who  knew  what  had  happened 
would  trust  her. 

"Well,  never  mind/'  said  Mrs.  Beekman  kindly; 
"you  have  placed  us  under  a  great  obligation,  and  you 
may  be  sure  we  shall  always  be  glad  to  help  you  as  best 
we  can." 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  subject,  and  after  a 
little  while  Viola  was  permitted  to  sit  up.  And  after 
her  coat  had  been  put  on,  Mr.  Beekman  and  little 
Rupert  were  asked  to  come  into  the  stateroom. 

The  nurse  was  not  there,  and  Viola  learned  that  she 
had  been  sent  home,  since  it  was  entirely  owing  to  her 
carelessness  that  the  accident  had  happened. 

Mr.  Beekman  was  visibly  interested  in  the  beautiful 
girl  who  had  saved  his  child,  and  did  all  he  could  to 
aid  his  mother  in  putting  her  at  her  ease. 

But,  probably,  nothing  he  or  his  mother  could  have 
done  would  have  put  her  as  much  at  her  ease  as  little 
Rupert's  winsome  prattling  did. 

He  seemed  to  take  to  Viola  at  once,  and  snuggled  up 
to  her  in  the  way  so  sweet  in  children,  and  presently 
she  found  herself  tailing  to  him  and  telling  him  stories, 
as  if  the  older  people  had  not  been  there. 

Mrs.  Beekman  smiled  at  her  son,  and  exchanged 
meaning  glances  with  him. 

It  was  plain  that  neither  of  them  was  sorry  that 
Viola  was  going  home  with  them. 


IO4  In  Front  of  a  Mirror. 

And  when  at  last  the  station  where  they  were  to, get 
off  was  reached,  it  seemed  to  Viola  almost  as  if  she 
were  going  to  a  place  that  might  be  a  shelter  and  a 
home  during  the  terrible  period  of  suspense  before  the 
kind  detective  could  clear  her  name  from  the  stain 
upon  it. 

A  motor  car  was  waiting  at  the  station,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  they  were  being  whirled  up  the  gentle 
slope  that  led  from  the  station  to  the  hills  beyond. 

The  sky  was  overcast  with  dull,  leaden  clouds,  and 
there  was  that  peculiar  feeling  in  the  air  that  betokened 
a  coining  snowstorm. 

And  indeed  they  had  not  yet  reached  the  mansion 
amid  the  trees  when  the  great  flakes  began  to  come 
floating  slowly  down. 

Rupert  cried  out  with  glee  at  the  prospect  of  sleigh- 
ing, and  began  to  .chatter  to  Viola  about  the  fun  they 
would  have  together. 

And. when  the  house  was  reached  and  the  hall  door 
thrown  open,  to  admit  them,  they  were  greeted  by  the 
sight  of  a  great -fire  of  blazing  logs  in  the  capacious 
c^ininey  of  the  wide1  hail. 

It  was  like  a  new  world  to  Viola,  and  she  felt 'that  if 
she  could  only  rid  herself  of  the  awful  fear  of  discov- 
ery she  could  be  very  happy  there. 

Instinctively  she  began  -to  make  herself  useful  by 
removing  Rupert's  outer  garments,  but -was  stopped  by 


In  Front  of  a  Mirror.  105 

Mrs.  Beekrnan,  who  told  her  that  Rupert  would,  be 
taken  care  of  by  his  old  friend,  Mrs,  Daly,  the  house- 
keeper. 

So  Viola  surrendered  the  child  to  the  .comfortable- 
looking  woman,  and  followed  Mrs.  Beekman  up  to  her 
room. 

"Do  you  feel  well  enough  to  go  down  to  dinner  with 
us?"  the  old  lady  inquired,  when  they  stood  alone  in 
the  cheery  apartment. 

"I  .feel  quite  well,  excepting,  for  a  sore  feeling  in  the 
shoulder,0  Viola  replied.  "But  I  don't  see  how -I  can 
go  down  in  the  dress  I  have  on/1 

She  blushed  as  she  spoke,  thinking  of  the  cut  sleeve, 
which  exposed  her  snowy  shoulder.  Mrs;  Beekman 
smiled  pleasantly. 

"That  can  be  fixed  easily  enough/'  she  said.  "In 
fact,  I  shall  be  very  much  surprised  if  Mrs.  Daly  has 
not  already  provided  for  that.  The  truth  is,  that  when 
I  telegraphed  for  you,  I  also  telegraphed  up  here;  tell- 
ing the  housekeeper  to  lay  out  some  clothes  which  be- 
longed to  a  dear  granddaughter  of  mine,  now  dead* 
Come  with  me." 

She  led  Viola  to  an  adjoining  room,  which  had  been 
prepared  for  the  coming  of  a  guest,  and  there  Viola 
saw  by  the  garments  thrown  on  the  bed  that  Mrs. 
Daly  must  have;  received  the  telegram. 


io6  in  Front  of  a  Mirror. 

"I  think  they  will  fit  you,  dear/'  said  Mrs.  Beekmas0 
"Anyhow,  I  will  leave  you  while  you  try  them  on.'* 

"Won't  you  let  me  help  you  first?"  Viola  asked 
anxiously,  eager  to  begin  her  duties. 

"There  will  be  time  enough  for  anything  of  that 
sort  later  on,  my  dear.  But,  of  course,  you  under- 
stand I  want  you  for  a  companion,  and  not  for  a  maid. 
You  may  help  me  just  as  a  young  person  would  an 
older  one,  but  not  in  any  other  way." 

Perhaps  there  was  a  kindly  design  on  the  part  of  the 
old  lady  in  leaving  Viola  alone  for  the  first  few  min- 
utes of  her  arrival  in  the  house. 

Certainly  the  young  girl  was  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  sink  into  a  chair,  and  have  her  thoughts  to 
herself.  It  was  almost  a  necessity  that  she  should  be 
able  to  look  about  her  and  adjust  her  thoughts  to  her 
new  conditions. 

What  strange  happenings  there  had  been  in  her 
It  was  as  if  some  unseen  hand  had  been  guiding-  her 
steps. 

The  more  she  thought  over  the  finding  of  the  ring  in 
her  pocket,  the  more  certain  it  was  in  her  mind  that  she 
was  in  fact  the  victim  of  a  dreadful  conspiracy,  though 
she  was  not  shrewd  enough  in  guessing  to  arrive  at  the 
truth  as  the  detective  had  done. 

How  terrible  the  future  had  looked  at  the  moment 


In  Front  of  a  Mirror.  107 

when  she  left  the  store  of  Hardman  &  Son,  accused  of 
theft,  and  on  her  way  to  a  felon's  cell! 

But  how  providentially  the  rest  had  happened !  The 
detective  had  been  won  to  believe  her  innocent,  and 
had  told  her  to  go  free. 

But  even  then  she  must  have  had  a  terrible  time  but 
for  the  accident,  which  in  the  strangest  way  had  ended 
in  her  being  where  she  was. 

It  calmed  her  mind  to  be  able  to  go  over  the  events 
of  the  day,  and  it  seemed  to  her  now  that  she  could 
bear  her  troubles  with  equanimity. 

She  would  send  what  money  she  had  to  her  mother, 
and  all  that  she  should  earn  in  the  future  should  go 
to  her,  too. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Walter  should  be  written  to,  and 
he  would  surely  advise  her  what  to  do. 

In  her  heart  she  had  no  doubt  that  he  would  return 
to  her  at  all  hazards,  and  she  knew  that  she  had  not 
the  strength  to  bid  him  remain  where  he  was. 

She  settled  everything  before  she  began  to  think  of 
dressing,  and  the  improvement  in  her  spirits  consequent 
on  doing  so  was  plainly  apparent. 

The  world  looked  brighter,  the  future  more  hopeful; 
and  when  she  set  about  removing  her  owrn  clothes  to 
don  those  which  had  been  laid  out  for  her.  she  found 
herself  humming  a  tune. 


iK)8  In  Frc/nt  o!f  a  Mirroi, 

The  rO(-;rri.s-he  vvris  in  was-  far  daintier  than- any  she 
ever  had  occupied. 

It-  was.  furnished  not  only  with  luxury,  but  with  such 
exquisite  taste  that  it  seemed  like  a  fairy  bower. 

Thr  great  rnullioned  window  looked  down  upon  a 
jawn  fast  whitening  under  the  fall  of  snow,  and  in  the 
distance  stretched  the  gray  woods,  with  the  lordly  Hud- 
son shimmering  in  the  dull  afternoon  like  a  great, 
smooth  lake. 

The  clothes  fitted  her  as  if  they  had  been  made  for 
no  one  else,  but  when  they  were  on,  and  she  saw  how 
rich  and  elegant  they  were,  she  was  dismayed. 

She  had  never  worn  such  garments  in  her  life  be- 
fore, though  she  had  seen  such  in  the  store,  and  could 
make  a  reasonable  guess  at  their  cost. 

There  was  a  cheval-glass  in  the  room,  and  she  stood 
in  front  of  it  so  that  she  could  see  herself. 

"I  should  like  to  wear  such  clothes,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "But  as  long  as  they  are  not  mine,  I  would 
rather  have  my  shabby  ones  on." 

"But  they  are  yours,  my  dear,"  said  the  soft  voice  of 
Mrs.  Beekman,  who  had  suddenly  entered  the  room. 
"They  fit  you  better  than  they  would  any  one  else,  and 
yours  they  are  to  be.  There  are  ever  so  many  more,  so 
you  see  you  have  a  complete  outfit.  Now,  don't  at- 
tempt to  tell  me  you  don't  wish  them,  for  my  mind  is 
inade  up,  and!  am  mistress  here." 


In  Front  of  a  Mirror.  109 

I  do  ;npt  deserve  so  much  kindness,"  said  Viola. 

"'Nonsense !"  said  Mrs.  Beekman.  "Here  is  a  little 
pin  to  fasten  at  your  throat,  There !  now  you  look 
good  enough  for  anything." 

"Was  the  young  lady  Mr  Beekmari's  daughter?" 
asked  Viola,  shy  of  appearing  before -him  if  the  sight 
of  the  clothes  was  likely  , to  bring  up  unhappy  recol- 
lections. 

-  "Oh,  .dear,  no!  Howard  is  only  thirty-five  Rupert 
is  his  only  child.  The  boy's  mother  died  when  he  was 
born,  and  I  have  always  had  the  care  of  him.  Gome. 
Dear  me!  how  .prettily  your  hair  is  done  up!M 

She  did  not  say  that  she  had  never  seen  such  a 
charming  Httle  beauty  iii  all  her  life  before,  but  it  was 
what  she  thought,  and  it  was  what  Howard  Beekman 
thought,  too,  when  Viola  glided  into  the  parlor,  and 
blushed  as  he  greeted  her. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

JUST    AS    AN    OLD    MAN. 

Two  weeks  passed  away  in  the  delightful  home  of 
the  Beekmans,  and  Viola  lacked  but  one  thing  of  per- 
fect happiness. 

She  had  written  to  her  mother,  explaining  every- 
thing, and  inclosing  the  money  she  had  received  from 
the  detective,  and,  in  return,  she  had  received  a  letter 
telling  her  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  remain  where  she 
was. 

*T  shall  get  along  nicely/'  the  letter  had  said.  "I  am 
sure  Walter  will  be  home  the  moment  he  hears  from 
you.  Until  then  remain  where  you  are." 

Now,  if  she  could  but  get  a  word  from  Walter,  she 
would  be  completely  happy.  But  it  was  not  yet  time  to 
receive  an  answer  to  the  one  she  had  written  him  about 
the  occurrence,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  have 
patience. 

Her  new  friends  were  as  good  to  her  as  if  she  had 
been  of  their  own  blood,  and  she  had  not  been  long  in 
discovering  that  the  old  lady's  offer  to  make  her  her 
companion  was  nothing  more  than  a  device  to  keep  her 
at  the  mansion. 

The  snow  had  come,  and  the  lake  near  the  house  had 


Just  as  an  Old  Man.  in 

frozen  over ;  so  she  went  out  sleighing  with  Mr.  Beek- 
man  and  Rupert,  and  one  clay  was  presented  with  a 
beautiful  new  pair  of  skates,  so  that  she  and  Rupert's 
father  might  go  skating  together. 

It  never  once  occurred  to  her  that  Mr.  Beekman  was 
more  than  courteous  to  her;  that  his  attentions  were  as 
fervent  and  marked  as  those  of  the  one  who  sues  for 
favor. 

She  often  caught  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face,  but 
when  she  turned  blushingly  away,  it  was  with  no  sort 
of  consciousness  that  he  was  telling  himself  that  she 
was  the  most  beautiful  creature  he  had  ever  looked 
upon. 

To  her,  he  was  simply  an  old  man,  Old  to  her, 
anyhow,  and  no  more  likely  to  think  of  loving  her,  than 
she  of  loving  him. 

But  if  she  did  not  see  it,  his  mother  did;  and  one  day 
she  called  him  to  her  as  she  sat  in  her  favorite  seat  in 
the  bay  window,  looking  out  on  the  lawn  where  Viola, 
with  sparkling  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  was  playing  in  the 
snow  with  Rupert. 

"Howard/'  said  his  mother,  "she  is  a  very  pretty 
girl,  is  she  not?" 

'The  most  beautiful  I  ever  saw,"  he  answered. 

"I  have  noticed  that  you  look  at  her  a  great  deal/' 
she  said.  "Does  it  mean  anything  more  than  admira- 
tion, Howard?1' 


122  in:  i  as  an  Old  Man. 

He  locked  over  herliead,  and  at  the  pretty  sight  otrif 
on  the  lawn  before  he  made  any  response.  Then  he 
said  slowly: 

"Yes,  it  rneans  more  than  admiration.  I  know  thaS 
she  looks  upon  me  as  an  old  man;  but  I  love  her, 
mother,  with  the  fervor  of  a  young  heart,  and  if  she 
will  have  me,  I  will  make  her  my  wife." 

"You  know  nothing  of  her  past/'  she  said. 

"It  is  enough  to  know  the  present  of  such  a  nature  as 
hers.  It  is  as  transparent  and  pure  as  Heaven-made 
crystals." 

"She  may  love  another,"  she  said  again. 

"I  know  it,  but  I  hope  not.  She  is  very  young  to 
have  thought  much  of  such  a  thing  as  lovers,  and  I 
hope  she  is  heart  tree.  Do  you  object,  mother?" 

"You  know  I  do  not.  She  is  a  lovely  girl,  as  good  as 
she  is  beautiful,  and  words  could  go  no  further.  "Win 
her  if  you  can;  but  prepare  yourself  for  a  disappoint- 
ment, my  boy." 

"I  will,  mother.  But  do  you  think  I  would  be  un- 
wise to  speak  to  her  now  of  my  love  ?  Might  it  not  be 
well  for  me  if  I  could  bring  her  to  think  of  me  as  a 
lover,  and  not  only  as  a  man  who  is  older  than  she,  and 
out  of  her  life?" 

"Perhaps;  but  an  abrupt  confession  such  as  that 
might  startle  her.  I  do  not  know  how  to  advise  you." 

"I  will  let  opportunity  decide,"  he  said.    "How  beai*- 


Just  as  an  Old  Man,  1  j  3 

tiful  she  is!-  That  man  will  be  fortunate  who  wins  her 
for  his  wife." 

The  object  of  his  admiration,  meanwhile,  was  think- 
ing of  nothing  so  little  as  winning  the  love  of  any  man. 

If  love  was  constantly  in  her  thoughts,  it  was  only 
because  all  her  soul  was  filled  with  longing  to  see  again 
the  dear  face  of  Walter. 

She  thought  of  him  constantly,  but  she  did  not  let 
her  longing  make  her  unhappy. 

Unconscious  now  -  of  being  seen  by  the  two  who 
watched  her  from  the  curtained  window,  she  gave  her- 
self up  to  the  task  of  pleasing  little  Rupert,  until  he 
declared  he  was  too  Cold  to  play  out  of  doors  any 
longer. 

Then  she  caught  up  her  skates,  which  she  had 
thrown  on  a  bench  while  she  frolicked  with  him,  and 
started  down  toward  the  lake. 

It  was  a  picturesque  spot,  and  Viola  went  there  to 
skate  dreamily  about,  while  her  heart  was  filled  with 
sweet  thoughts  of  the  absent  lover. 

She ''had  almost  forgotten  her  troubles  in  the  happy 
belief  that  no  one  would  give  much  thought  to  her  now 
that  she  had  disappeared  from  the  city. 

They  saw  her  take  up  her  skates  and  disappear  in 
the  woods  by  the  path  that  led  to  the  lake. 

"I  will  go  skate  with  her,"  Howard  Beekman  said. 

He  hastened  away  to  get  his  skates,  and  his  mother, 


H4  tJust  as  an  Old  Man. 

looking  out  of  the  window,  saw  him  disappear  by  the 
same  path  which  Viola  had  taken. 

"May  he  win  her!"  she  murmured. 

The  same  hope  was  in  his  heart  as  he  walked  slowly 
along  the  path.  He  would  not  go  too  quickly,  lest  she 
might  take  alarm  at  being  followed  so  closely. 

So  he  sauntered  through  the  wood,  wondering  as  he 
drew  nearer  to  the  lake  that  he  did  not  see  her  form 
flitting  about  over  the  ice. 

Still  he  was  not  sure  that  he  could  see  her  so  far 
away,  though  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  able  to 
do  so  on  previous  occasions. 

But  as  he  drew  nearer  to  the  lake  he  was  sure  that 
she  could  not  be  there,  and  he  fancied  she  must  have 
wandered  on  to  a  rock  from  which  there  was  a  mag- 
I  nificent  view  of  the  valley  of  the  Hudson. 

He  hesitated  for  a  while,  trying  to  make  up  his 
mind  whether  to  follow  her  or  not,  but  presently  put 
his  hesitation  aside  and  went  on  to  the  lake,  and 
looked  for  her  footprints. 

They  were  easily  found  and  unmistakable,  because 
they  were  so  small.  He  looked  at  them  fondly  for  a 
moment,  and  then  followed  where  they  led  him. 

It  was  not  toward  the  rock,  but  toward  the  road  that 
they  went,  and  with  a  start  of  dismay  Howard  Beek- 
man  realized  that  they  were  side  by  side  with  the  foot- 
prints of  a  man. 


Just  as  an  Old  Man.  ng 

Should  he  follow  or  not  ?  Who  was  the  man  ?  Was 
he  a  stranger?  Might  it  be  one  of  the  servants,  who, 
perhaps,  had  something  he  wished  to  show  her? 

He  could  not  reason  out  his  proper  course,  but  fol- 
lowed because  he  could  not  rest  without  knowing. 

Side  by  side  the  footprints  went  until  the  road  was 
reached;  there  they  stopped.  Beads  of  perspiration 
stood  out  on  the  forehead  of  Howard  Beekman. 

"There  was  a  sleigh  waiting  there,"  he  muttered 
hoarsely,  "and  she  must  have  gone  in  the  sleigh !  What 
does  it  mean?" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

/'SHE    WILL    DO    MY    WORK." 

There  was  no  compunction  or  remorse  in  the  h6art 
of  Eunice  Carroll  after  she  had  entered  on  the  cruel 
plot  to  destroy  the  reputation  of  her  hated  rival, 
i     S he  w as  ha  r  d  by  nature-^  -and  it  was  1  i ttle  to  he r *  to 
sweep  a  poor  .girl  like  Viola  from  her  path. 

So  she  waited  with  a  fierce  impatience  to  hear  some 
word  as  to  the  result  of  the  plot  It  did  not -come  until 
the  evening. 

Then  Stella,  her  maid,  came  to  her  to  say  that  the 
detective  she  had  sent  for  earlier  in  the  day  had  come,- 
and  was"  waiting  in  the  reception  room. 

"Did  he  say  anything?"  she  demanded  eagerly. 

"Nothing,  mrss,  except  to  ask  for  you.  I  hope -he 
has  found  the  ring/' 

"And  I  hope  he  has  the  thief  in  prison!'.'  was  the 
hissing  a^wer. 

Stella  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  she  watched  her 
mistress  sweep  out  of  the  room. 

"How  Miss  Eunice  hates  the  little  shop  girl4;"  she 
murmured.  "I  wonder  why?1'  • 

Eunice  Carroll  biirst  into  the  reception  room,  where 
the  keen-eyed  detective  awaited  her  coming. 


"She'  Will  Do  My  Work."  117 

"Well,"  she  said  eagerly,  making  no  effort  to  conceal 
her  venom,  "have  you  arrested  the  girl?" 

"Is  this  your  ring  ?", he  asked  coldly. 

She  snatched  the  ring  from  him  and  looked  at  it 
carefully. 

"Yes,  it  is  mine.  Did  you  find  it  on  her?  Did  you 
arrest  her?" 

"I- arrested  her,"  he  answered. 

"That  is  good.  You  shall  be  rewarded.  Those  im- 
pudent creatures!  They  pretend  to  be  honest  with  the 
most  brazen  impudence,  but  they  will  steal  anything." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  he  said,  a  look  of  dislike  pass- 
ing over  his  face  like  a  shadow. 

"Those  salesgirls,"  she  said,  stamping  her  little  foot 
impatiently.  "I -mean  them.  That  girl  was  so  indig- 
nant because  I  told  her  not  to  go  too  near  the  dressing 
table,  and  then  she  stole  the  ring,  after  all.  So  she  is 
in  prison,,  and  the  newspapers  to-morrow  will  print  the 
story  of  her  crime." 

"No,  she  is  not  in  prison,"  he  said  calmly.  "She 
escaped." 

"Escaped!"  cried  Eunice  angrily.  "And  not  caught 
again?" 

"Not  caught  yet,"  he  replied. 

"Escaped  from  you?"  she  demanded,  her  black  eye$ 
flaming  suddenly  on  his  face. 

"Escaped-  fro*$  me, ".  he  answered  impassively. 


.Ti8  "She  Will  Do  My  Work." 

"A  nice  detective,  you!"  she  sneered.  "But  it  is  not 
possible.  It  is  a  trick  of  some  sort !  The  girl  could  not 
escape  from  you.  She  bought  her  freedom  with  her 
beauty.  What  is  it  in  her  face  that  makes  men  care 
for  her?  I  will  inform  against  you  at  the  office.  You 
let  her  go !" 

"Is  this  your  ring?"  he  asked,  in  his  cold,  unmoved 
way. 

She  glared  at  him  with  the  furious  passion  of  a  wild 
animal. 

"It  is  mine/'  she  replied.  "Has  anything  been  done 
to  recapture  the  girl?" 

"The  usual  steps  have  been  taken,"  he  replied. 
"Good  evening." 

He  bowed  and  left  the  room.  She  watched  him,  and 
listened  until  she  heard  the  outer  door  slam.  Then  she 
ground  her  small  white  teeth  together,  and  stamped 
upon  the  floor  with  her  little  foot. 

"It  is  a  trick,  a  trick,"  she  muttered  angrily.  "But 
what  does  it  matter  ?  The  girl  is  already  smirched  with 
the  crime.  If  she  has  run  away  it  is  an  admission  of 
guilt.  It  was  her  beauty,  I  suppose.  How  could  she 
run  away  from  him?  I  will  go  see  that  sneaking 
wretch  who  proposed  the  plot." 

Half  an  hour  later  her  carriage  stood  in  front  of  the 
store  of  Hardman  &  Son,  and  she  was  inside  asking 
for  Peter  Harriem, 


"Sue  Will  Do  My  Work;*'  iig' 

She  was  informed  that  he  had  gone  out  earlier  in  the 
day,  and  had  not  yet  returned.  Nor  did  any  one  know 
when  he  would  return. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Hardman  will  know,"  she  said,  in  her 
imperious  way.  "Where  is  Mr.  Hardman?" 

"Upstairs,  in  his  private  office." 

"Tell  him  that  Miss  Eunice  Carroll  wishes  to  see 
him." 

The  name  was  a  charm.  It  was  known  in  the  store 
that  she  was  one  of  the  best  customers,  and  also  it  was 
whispered  that  she  and  Walter  were  to  be  married. 

The  clerk  hastened  away,  and  presently  came  back 
with  most  humble  apologies,  to  say  that  Mr.  Hardman 
begged  her  to  come  up  to  his  office. 

So  she  went  up  there,  and  swept  proudly  into  the 
room  where  many  a  heart  had  grown  cold  with  fear  of 
the  hard  man  who  sat  there. 

"Miss  Eunice !"  he  exclaimed  cordially.  "What 
lucky  stroke  of  fortune  is  it  that  brings  you  here? 
Pray  be  seated." 

"No,  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Harriem  about  a  small  mat- 
ter of  business.  No  one  else  will  do.  I  only  want  you 
to  tell  me  where  he  is,  or  when  he  wMl  return.  I  am 
very  anxious  to  see  him." 

"Peter  has  left  the  city,  I  believe.  I  received  a  note 
from  him  this  afternoon,  saying  he  would  not  be  back 


120  "She  Will  Do  My  Work/' 

this  evening.  ;  If  you  wish,  I  will  tell  -him  that  you  de- 
sire to  see  him.  He  will  call  the  moment  he  returns/' 

"You  do  not  know  where  he  has  gone?*'  she  queried. 

."I  have  not  the  least  idea,  Miss  Eunice.  You  see,  he 
is  iny  confidential  man,  and  I  trust  him  so  far  that  it  is 
not  essential  that  he  should  tell  me  just  what  he  does 
with  his  time.  Shall  I  tell  him  that  you  wish  to  see 
him?" 

"If  you  will  be  so  kind.     Good  night!" 

She  went  away  filled  with  rage,  yet  hoping  that 
somehow  the  absence  of  her  partner  in  crime  meant 
something  in  relation  to  the  affair  at  hand. 

That  night  she  was  forced  to  attend  a  magnificent 
ball,  at  which  she  was  the  leading  beauty. 

She  retired  from  the  ball  early,  however,  and  con- 
sumed the  remaining  hours  of  the  night  in  a  vain 
effort  to  sleep. 

It  was  not  until  morning  came  that  she  fell  into  a 
troubled  slumber,  in  which  her  dreams  were  of  the  girl 
she  was  striving  to  ruin,  and  who  seemed  always  to  be 
mocking  her  with  triumphant  smiles. 

Stella  thought  she  had  never  known  her  never-pleas- 
ant mistress  quite  so  difficult  to  get  along  with. 

"If  Mr.  Harriem  calls,"  said  Eunice,  when  she  dis- 
missed her  maid  at  last,  "show  him  up  here.  Don't 
wait  to  announce  him/' 

So. at  about  ten  o'clock,  the  .cringmg,,  obsequious 


"She  Will  Do  My  Work/'  121 

Peter. was  ushered  into  the  sumptuous  boudoir,  of  the 
•beauty, .-  ,-.r  .  —   : 

He  was  still  bowing  and  cringing  when  the  door 
closed  in  response  to  an  imperious  gesture  from  Eunice 
to  Stella. 

"Come  nearer  and  whisper,"  she  said  to  him  fiercely. 
"I  do  not  know  but  that  girl  is  at  the  keyhole.  The 
girl  has  escaped.  Did  you  know  it?" 

"I  followed  her  and  saw  the  detective  give  her 
money  and  let  her  go  free.  They  did  not  know  I  was 
watching  They  do  not  know  that  I  am  as  cunning  as 
the  best  of  them." 

" Why  did  you  not  have  her  stopped?  I  wished  her 
to  go  to  prison  and  be  disgraced." 
,; "But.  I  am  not  so  anxious,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of 
leer,  which  seemed  to  mdicate  that  for  all  his  cringing 
he  was  not  one  to  be  driven.  " You  know  I  am  to 
.marry  her,", 

"Did  you  follow  her  after  she  left  the  detective/' 
asked  Eunice.  ,..-,. 

"Yes.  That  is  why  I  was  out  of  town.  I  followed 
her." 

"Where  is  she?"  Eunice  demanded. 

Peter  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  answered : 

"Do  you  know  anybody  by  the  name  of  Beekman?" 

"I  know  Howard  Beekman.    He  belohgs  to  our  set/' 
"  "•'  "Well,  Viola  saved  Ms:  little  :boy " 


122  "She  Will  Do  My  Work." 

"Rupert?" 

"That  is  the  name.  A^iola  saved  his  life,  and  the 
Beekmans  have  taken  her  with  them  to  their  home,. 
No  doubt  they  mean  to  keep  her  with  them/' 

"Will  you  permit  it?  She  might  better  be  here  in 
the  store." 

Peter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"What  can  I  do?  Now  that  they  are  her  friends, 
don't  you  see  that  they  will  be  able  to  help  her?  It  is 
not  as  if  she  were  friendless.  Besides,  you  seem  to 
forget  the  detective." 

"What  about  him?"  demanded  Eunice  quickly. 

"Why,  don't  you  see  that  he  suspects  somebody  or 
he  would  not  have  let  her  go  away.  He  would  not 
have  dared.  He  is  pretty  sure  that  we  will  not  push 
the  matter/' 

"And  you  mean/'  cried  Eunice,  "  "that  you  will  let 
the  matter  drop  just  where  it  is?  Why,  she  is  better 
off  than  before.  And  she  is  sure  to  wTrite  to  Walter, 
telling  him  what  has  happened." 

Peter  turned  pale.  Simple  as  the  thing  was,  he  had 
not  thought  of  it. 

His  subtle  brain  worked  quickly.  Suppose  she  did. 
The  result  would  be  to  bring  Walter  home.  That 
would  take  at  least  a  month. 

In  the  meantime  he  should  be  able  to  carry  out  his 
plans. 


~She  Will  Do  My  Work."  123 

Walter  might  suspect  him,  but  he  would  know  by 
Viola's  letter  that  Eunice  was  the  chief  factor  in  the 
plot  against  her. 

"You  are  right/'  he  said.  "Of  course  you  are  right. 
Why  did  I  not  think  of  it?  Walter  will  be  home  in 
a  month,  and  she  will  explain  everything  to  him." 

"They  must  not  meet,"  hissed  Eunice.  "Do  you 
think  I  have  begun  only  to  turn  back  at  the  first  obsta- 
cle? Have  you  a  plan  that  will  do?" 

"I  had  a  plan,  but  it  is  useless,"  he  said  gloomily. 

"Tell  me  the  plan,"  she  said. 

"What  is  the  use?  She  must  have  written  to  him, 
and  he  is  sure  to  come  home  at  once.  Yes,  I  had  what 
was  a  beautiful  plan,  but  it  is  worthless  now.  I  will 
give  it  up." 

"Tell  me  what  it  was,"  she  said. 

"If  I  tell  you  I  warn  you  that  I  will  not  put  it  in 
practice,"  he  said. 

"Just  as  you  please  about  that,"  she  replied.  "Tell 
me  the  plan." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it  is  certain  from  the  conduct  of 
the  detective  that  it  will  be  idle  to  think  of  pressing  the 
charge  of  the  theft  against  her." 

"I  suppose  so.     Well?" 

"But  I  thought  I  could  make  her  believe  she  was  in 
prison,  and  that  the  only  way  of  escape  was  by  marry- 
ing me." 


124  "She  Will  Do  My  Work." 

"How  could  you  do  that?"  she  asked. 

"I  was  going  to  find  some  person  who  would  consent 
to  play  the  parts  of  judge  and  officers.  I  would  give 
her  a  mock  trial  and  convict  her.  I  would  have  sen- 
tenced her  to  prison,  and  would  have  found  a  cell  for 
her.  Then  I  would  have  gone  to  her,  and  I  do  not 
doubt  she  would  have  married  me  to  escape.  Of 
course,  once  married  to  me,  Walter  would  be  bound  to 
believe  her  faithless  to  him." 

"And  you  give  up  this  plan  now?"  she  asked  slowly, 
&s  if  her  thoughts  were  busy. 

"Yes,  I  give  it  up  now,"  he  answered. 

"Well,"  she  said  coldly,  "if  you  have  given  it  up,  I 
suppose  I  might  as  well  do  so.  Good  day !" 

He  bowed  and  cringed  as  he  had  done  on  entering, 
and  was  gone. 

"The  cur  f"  she  snapped,  when  he  was  gone.  "I  am 
well  rid  of  such  a  coward.  Let  him  go!  I  will  prose- 
cute my'  plan  alone." 

"Ha,  ha !"  Peter  chuckled,  as  he  glided  down  the 
steps  to  the  sidewalk,  "she  will  do  my  work  for  me, 
and  I  shall  reap  the  profit.  It  is  the  safest  way.  If 
she  did  not  hate  so  bitterly,  this  could  not,  have  been* 
I  am  very  fortunate." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A     D  E  T  E  C  T  I  V  E     A  G  E  N  C  Y  0 

r     It  chanced  that  this  was  Eunice's  day  to  receive  at 
home.     She  dressed  in  her  most  becoming  gown. 
i     There  was  one  caller  she  could  always  depend  upon. 
He  was  a  young  lawyer,  who  was.  making  a  specialty  of 
the  criminal  practice,  and  who  was  bent  on  capturing  a 
-rich  wife  as  a  fair  means  of Snaking  a  good  start 
i    ;This  was  Henry  Baldwin,  one  of  her  most  assiduous 
suitors,  whom  she  alternately  snubbed  and  encouraged. 
He  came,  as  she  had  supposed  he  would,  and  began 
immediately  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  Eunice 

"Oh,  Mr.  Baldwin,"  she  said  earnestly,  '•  we'  have 
been  talking  about  detectives.  You  must  know-all 
about  them/'  -  - 

;      It  was  an  interesting  subject,  and  the. callers  asked 
i  him  a  great  many,  questions.     Eunice  asked  one  only 
once  in  a  while. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  was  gone  she  made  .some 
notes  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  her  black  eyes  were  all 
aglow  with  a  purpose. 

The  next  morning  she  went  out  without  the  car- 
riage, which  was  an  event,  -for  she  disliked  to  walk  on 
the  streets. 


126  A  Detective  Agency. 

"I  wonder  where  she  is  going?"  mused  Stella.  "She 
has  her  last  year's  cloak  on — a  garment  that  should 
have  come  to  me  by  this  time.  I  wonder  where  she  is 
going?" 

She  wondered,  but  she  did  not  think  of  trying  to 
find  out.  She  was  a  luxury-loving  young  woman,  and 
took  as  little  trouble  as  possible. 

Had  she  followed  her  mistress,  however,  she  would 
have  seen  her  go  to  a  part  of  the  city  strange,  indeed, 
for  her. 

She  rode  in  a  Third  Avenue  street  car,  too,  and 
reached  the  Bowery  in  that  way.  She  studied  the 
street  names  on  the  lamp-posts,  too,  and  finally  stopped 
the  car  and  alighted  from  it. 

It  was  a  newr  experience  for  the  haughty  beauty  to 
be  in  that  rude  part  of  the  city,  and  she  was  angry  at 
being  jostled  by  rough  men. 

But  she  did  not  waver  in  her  purpose,  and  at  last 
turned  in  at  a  narrow,  dirty  hallway,  after  studying  the 
signs  tacked  up  at  the  door. 

The  sign  ffcat  held  her  attention  longest  was  one 
reading : 

"Detective  Agency.  Business  of  a  confidential  char- 
acter transacted  promptly  and  faithfully." 

She  climbed  the  rickety  stairs  to  the  office  of  this 
firm,  which  Henry  Baldwin  had  said  the  day  before 
was  one  of  the  must  unscrupulous  agencies  in  the  city. 


A  Detective  Agency.  127 

There  Were  three  men  in  the  office,  and  their  heels 
came  down  from  their  elevation  on  the  desk  with  a 
reluctance  that  showed  they  paid  but  scant  attention 
to  the  requirements  of  good  society. 

"I  wish  to  see  the  manager  of  this  agency!"  Eunice 
said,  with  a  slight  shudder  at  the  expressions  on  the 
three  faces. 

"I  am  the  manager,"  said  one,  whose  pale-blue  eyes 
looked  curiously  at  her  out  of  a  pallid,  thin  face. 

"I  have  some  business  with  you/'  she  said.  "I  wish 
to  see  you  alone.  What  is  your  name?" 

"Sam  Purdy.     Boys,  will  you  leave  us  alone?" 

The  two  men  winked  at  him,  and  stared  at  her,  as 
they  rose  from  their  chairs,  and  left  the  room. 

"Now,  madam,"  Purdy  said,  motioning  to  a  chair, 
"what  is  it?  Something  in  the  divorce  line?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "this  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  di- 
vorce. But  before  we  have  any  talk,  let  us  understand 
each  other." 

"Nothing  would  suit  me  better,"  he  replied. 

"I  have  heard  of  you  from  a  person  who  knows  you 
thoroughly,"  she  said  to  him. 

"I  hope  you  had  a  good  report,"  he  answered,  with 
indescribable  irony. 

"It  was  good  for  my  purpose.  He  said  you  were  the 
most  unscrupulous  man  in  New  York,  and  that  you 
would  do  anything  for  1150 


128  A  Detective  Agency. 

"And  suppose  I -admit  what  -your  friend 'so  flatter- 
ingly says  of  me?''  he  queried  calmly. 

"1  du  rjot  ask  you  to  admit  or  deny/7  she  replied. 
"All  I  wish  is  that  you  will  understand  that  any  pre- 
tense of  having  scruples  will  not  impose  upon  me." 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "we  will  have  that  understood; 
but,  really,  I  do  not  intend  to  make  any  such  claim  for 
myself.  All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  explain  your  busi- 
ness. If  it  is  something  I  can  do,  and  you  can  pay  for 
it,  that  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  know.  "What  is"  your 
business  ?" 

"Let  me  first  assure  you  that  I  am  able  and  willing 
to  pay  for  the  service  I  shall  ask  of  you." 

"Very  well.     What  is  the  service?" 

"There  is  a  girl  who  is  in  my  way,"  she  began. 

He  interrupted  her  to  say  in  his  calm,  even  tones: 

"Of  course,  you  understand  that  murder  is  quite  out. 
of  my  line?" 

"I  shall  ask  nothing  of  the  sort  of  you.  The  girl  is 
in  rny  way,  and  I  wish  her  frightened  off/' 

"Is  she  rich  or  poor?" 

"Poor,  and  a  fugitive  from  justice.  She  was  ac- 
cused of  stealing  a  diamond  ring,  which  was  found  on 
her  person.  She  was  arrested  and  escaped  on  the  way 
to  prison.  I  know  where  she  is,  and  want  her  kid- 
naped. Will  you  do  it?" 

"What  is  to  be  done  with  her  after  that?"  he  asked. 


A  Detective  -Agency.-  129 

I  want  her  to  be  made  -to  believe  that  she-  has  simply 
been  arrested.     Then  a  mock- trial  is  to  be  held,  and 
she  is  to  be  sentenced  to  prison:  a  cell  must.be  found  to 
put  her  in,  and  after  that  I  will  take  care  of  her." 
Purdy  mused  a  few  minutes,  and  finally  said  : 
'The  thing  is  not  so  difficult,  but  it  is  dangerous.  f 
Has  she  no  friends  at  all?5' 

i 

"The  only  friends  she  has  are  the  people  she  is  now 
iving  with,  and  they  have  known  her  but  a  few  days.  ! 
She  saved  the  life  of  a  little  boy,  and  is  now  living  with 
lis  father  and  grandmother  in  the  country/' 

"You  say  you  are  willing  to  pay  well  for  this?"  he 
asked. 

"You  may  name  your  own  price  for  doing  it  suc- 
cessfully," she  answered. 

"I  will  undertake  it;"  he  saidL 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SHUTTING    THE    DOOR. 

The  thing  that  had  happened  to  Viola  was  this: 

She  had  gone  with  a  merry  heart  from  the  game  if* 
the  snow  to  the  lake,  intending  to  skate  for  a  while  be- 
fore entering  the  house  to  change  her  clothes  for 
dinner. 

Christmas  was  almost  at  hand,  and  she  had  been 
.working  on  some  little  gifts  for  her  kind  friends.  She 
.wished  to  have  a  little  time  alone  so  that  she  might  put 
some  finishing  touches  to  the  presents. 

She  was  facing  the  lake  and  getting  ready  to  seat 
herself  on  a  bench  so  that  she  might  put  on  her  skates, 
when  she  was  startled  by  a  voice  saying  in  a  sharp 
whisper : 

"Miss  Redmond !  /Do  not  be  alarmed.  I  come  from 
your  friend,  the  detective,  who  gave  you  your  freedom 
when  you  were  falsely  accused  of  theft." 

She  turned  with  beating  heart,  alarmed  in  spite  of 
his  reassuring  words,  and  faced  a  stranger,  whose  face 
was  none  too  prepossessing. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  said,  pressing  her  little 
hand  against  her  throbbing  bosom. 

"I  only  want  to  tell  you  that  your  friend  is  waiting 


Shutting  the  Door.  331 

at  the  roadside.  He  has  something  important  to  tell 
you.  But  you  must  come  quickly,"  and  the  man 
glanced  uneasily  toward  the  house. 

"How  can  I  be  sure?"  she  began  to  say,  when  he 
interrupted  impatiently : 

"Well,  I  can't  stay  here,  miss.  If  you  don't  believe 
me,  I  must  go.  The  only  thing  I  will  say  is  that  he  has 
something  to  say  about  a  Mr.  Walter  Hardman,  who 
is  supposed  to  be  in  Europe,  but  who  isn't." 

"Walter!"  she  cried.     "Oh,  can  it  be  that  he— 

"I  don't  say  he  is  waiting  for  you,"  the  man  inter- 
rupted. "I  guess  if  he  was  around  here  you'd  know  it. 
But  it's  something  about  him.  Well,  I  can't  wait.  I 
said  you  wouldn't  come  with  me." 

"Yes,  I  will,  I  will,"  she  said  nervously.  "I  will  go 
at  once." 

She  started  toward  the  road,  and  the  man  took  his 
place  by  her  side,  walking  very  quickly,  so  that  it  was 
all  she  could  do  to  keep  pace  with  him. 

"Can  }^ou  tell  me  nothing  of  Wai Mr.  Hard- 
man?"  she  asked. 

"Don't  worry  about  him,  miss.  I  can  tell  you  he  is 
all  right.  You  will  see  him  soon  enough,  too.  Could 
you  walk  a  little  faster?  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  seen  by 
anybody  from  the  house."  . 

She  quickened  her  pace  almost  to  a  run,  and  pres- 
ently was  where  she  could  see  the  road.  There  was  a 


1 32  Shutting  the  Door. 

j  sleigh  there,  with  a  man  sitting  in  it,  all  wrapped  tdj 
the  eyes  in  mufflers. 

The  sleigh  was  a  large  two-seated  affair,  and  was 
drawn  by  two  powerful  bay  horses. 

All  this  she  noticed  mechanically.  She  wondered  if 
;  the  man  in  the  sleigh  was  the  detective. 

She  turned  to  ask  such  a  question  of  her  companion, 

i  when  suddenly,  and  with  the  celerity  of  lightning,,  a 

!  heavy  shawl  was  thrown  over  her  head,  and  she  was 

,  lifted-  in  a  powerful  pair  of  arms  and  carried  to  the 

sleigh. 

She  fought  fiercely  for  her  freedom;  but  in  the  folds 
••-of  the  shawl  were  the  fumes  of  a  drug,  and  in  a  very 
i  little  while  her  struggles  ceased,  and  she  became  un- 
;  (conscious. 

And  after  that  she  did  not  know  what  happened  to 
tier;  but,  as  a  master  of  fact,  she  was  put  quickly  into 
the  bottom  of  the  sleigh  and  covered  with  robes,  so 
jthat  no  one  could  know  that  she  was  there. 

The  driver,  meanwhile,  had  Aroused  himself  sud- 
denly, and  had  put  the  whip  to  the  horses  almost  while 
Jhe  men  were  getting  in.  — 

Everything  had  passed  with  the  utmost  quickness,  so 
that  the  sleigh  was  far  out  of  sight  when  Howard 
(Beeknian  reached  the  place  were  it  had  stood. 

It  sped  on  and  on,  the  horses  dripping  with  lather. 


g1.  the  Door.  T33 

),Jjiitllie  driver  plying  his  whip  at: the- least  sign  of  slack* 
en  ing  their  pace. 

The  man  who  had  decoyed  Viola,  and  the,  one  who 
had  thrown  the  shawl  over  her  head  conversed  in  whis- 
pers as  they  went. 

''And  it  was  a  good  job  well  done/'  said  the  decoy^  i 
who,  in  fact,  was  no  other  than  Purdy  himself. 

.,"•.-.-•.  .  •      • "      •     •  '  ,.)  ; 

"And  a  good  job  well  over  when  it  is  over/'  said  the 
other.  "I  always  hate  these  kidnaping  jobs.  How-' 
ever,  we  have  a  safe  place  to  put  her  in.  The  Old  Boy; 
himself  would  not  find  her  there/' 

"The  greater  the  risk,  the  greater  the  pay/'  said 
Pvirdy.  "Did  you  notice  what  a  beauty  she  is?" 

"I  should  say  so.  What  a  lonely  road !  I  hope  Tom! 
knows  the  way.  ( It  is  growing  dark  already  in  these 
woods." 

"Don't  worry  abdttt  him,"  said  Purdy,  "he  knows 
the  way.  I  hope  she  won't  rouse  up  before  we  get  her 
there." 

It  was  pitch  dark  before  the  horses  stopped,  and  it 
had  long  been  a  wonder  to  those  in  the  back  seat  how 
the  driver  could  find  his  way,  but  iHif dy  had  plenty  6f 
faith,  for  he  kept  reassuring  his  Companion  all  the 
time.  . 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Pvirdy,  in  a  low-  tone.    "Get  out 
and  take  her  up.     I  will  go  ahead  and  show  you  the 
I  oan^e.the  -house  now.'' 


i34  Shutting  the  Door. 

"It's  snowing/'  said  the  other,  as  he  took  Viola  in 
his  arms. 

"Luck  is  with  us.  Our  tracks  will  be  so  covered  that 
the  best  detective  on  the  force  couldn't  find  them. 
Come  along.  How  dark  it  is.  If  it  wasn't  for  the 
snow  I  couldn't  see  a  step.  All  right,  Tom,  you  may 
go  now/' 

He  kicked  the  snow  off  his  feet  on  the  heavy  wooden 
railing  of  the  porch  as  he  spoke,  and  a  moment  later 
fitted  a  key  in  the  lock  of  the  door,  and  led  the  other 
into  a  dark,  but  comfortably  warm  house. 

"Take  her  right  downstairs  into  the  cell  we  fixed  for 
her/'  Purdy  said.  "She  might  as  well  wake  up  in  it. 
I  suppose  you  haven't  tried  to  please  the  black-eyed 
tiger  cat  by  giving  an  overdose,  have  you?'' 

"No,  I  didn't  do  it,  but  I  was  half  tempted  to.  If  I'd 
ibeen  dead  sure  you  wouldn't  cut  up  rough,  I  believe  I 
would  have  done  it." 

The  man  carrying  Viola  laughed  as  he  went  down 
the  stairs,  made  light  now  by  Purdy's  lighting  a  lamp 
in  the  hall. 

"Be  sure  to  give  her  the  antidote,  Steve/'  said  Purdy. 
"And  be  sure  to  play  the  jailer  in  character.  Yoti 
ought  to  know  what  the  correct  thing  is." 

"Yes,"  laughed  Steve,  "I've  made  his  acquaintance 
often  enough." 

He  took  Viola  to  a  room  which  had  been  fitted  up  in 


Shutting  the  Door.  135 

resemblance  of  a  prison  cell.  It  might  have  de- 
ceived an  old  inmate  of  prisons. 

He  deposited  her  on  the  little  iron  bedstead  and  lit 
the  lamp  which  gave  light  in  the  cell,  but  could  not  be 
reached  by  the  prisoner. 

Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  box,  from  which  he 
took  some  powder,  which  he  held  under  the  nostrils  of 
the  insensible  girl. 

She  inhaled  the  powder  by  degrees,  and  presently 
began  to  move  her  limbs. 

The  instant  she  did  so  he  stepped  outside  the  door 
and  threw  off  his  outer  garments,  removing  every  trace 
of  having  just  been  out  in  the  cold. 

Viola  shuddered,  moaned,  and  presently  started  up 
like  one  awakening  from  a  nightmare. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped.    "Where  am  I?" 

"You  are  in  prison  on  the  charge  of  having  stolen  a 
diamond  ring  from  the  room  of  Miss  Eunice  Carroll/' 
said  the  pretended  jailer  harshly.  "Come!  I  have 
been  waiting  long  enough  for  you  to  wake  up.  Do  you 
want  any  supper?  I  want  to  close  up  and  go  to  bed. 
All  the  other  prisoners  have  had  their  supper  long  ago. 
If  I  wasn't  so  tender-hearted,  I'd  have  let  you  go 
without." 

Viola  listened  in  terror. 

Was  it  possible  that  she  was  at  last  the  inmate  of  a 


136  Shutting  the  Door. 

prison?  Her  heart  sank.  She  shook  her  head  and 
sobbed : 

"I  cannot  eat.  Oh,  sir!  shall  I  have  to  remain  here 
long?" 

"Until  your  trial,  and,  then,  if  you  are  convicted,  you 
will  probably  be  sent  to  Sing  Sing  for  five  or  ten  years. 
(Well,  I  must  go." 

He  shut  the  door  with  a  clang,  and  she  could  hear 
the.  k$y  turn, and  the  bolts  shoot  across  the  door. 

She  sank  on  her  knees  and  sobbed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
A  WOMAN'S  LIFE  FORESHADOWED. 

If  Mr.  Howard  Beekman  had  had  something  of  the 
detective  spirit  in  his  nature,  he  no  doubt  would  have 
examined  the  footprints  in  the  snow  with  a  care  and 
a  purpose  which  would  have  resulted  in  the  immediate 
discovery  of  some  of  the  facts  connected  with  the  ab- 
duction of  Viola. 

As  it  was,  he  only  returned  home  in  a  dejected  frame 
of  mind,  feeling  sure  that  his  beautiful  guest  had  had 
a  clandestine  meeting  with  some  man  whom  he  did  not 
doubt  she  loved. 

He  avoided  his  mother  for  a  while ;  but  as  the  min- 
utes slipped  by  and  over  an  hour  had  passed  without 
the  return  of  Viola,  he  became  at  once  uneasy  and 
indignant,  saying  to  himself : 

"It  is  not  right  in  Viola  to  do  this.  Respect  for  my 
mother  should  have  restrained  her/' 

He  started  angrily  for  his  mother's  room,  but  de- 
cided first  to  go  out  once  more  to  see  if  perhaps  Viola 
had  returned  and  was  skating. 

He,  therefore,  hastened  out  to  the  lake,  but  of  course 
saw  no  sign  of  her,  and  was  obliged  to  return  to  the 
house  with  no  better  knowledge  than  he  had  had  be^ 
fore. 


138       A  Woman's  Life  Foreshadowed. 

His  mother  had  seen  him  go  out  this  time  and  return 
alone,  and  called  to  him  from  her  room  to  come  to  her. 

She  saw  by  his  face  and  agitated  manner  that  some- 
thing was  wTrong,  and  she  exclaimed  at  once: 

"Howard!  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Viola/'  he  answered,  his  voice  broken,  for  it  was  a 
terrible  blow7  to  him  that  the  young  girl  he  had  learned 
to  love  should  have  acted  so. 

"Viola!  What  of  her?  I  saw  you  go  out  just  now 
as  if  you  had  not  been  with  her,  and  then  return  at  once 
with  something  in  your  manner  that  filled  me  with  fear. 
What  has  happened,  Howard?" 

"Sit  down,  mother,"  he  said,  trying  to  calm  himself. 
"It  is  nothing,  only  that  I  have  been  disappointed." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  disappointed?"  she  de- 
manded quickly.  "Has  she  refused  you?  Or  is  it 
something  else?" 

"She  has  not  refused  me,  mother,"  he  replied.  "I 
almost  wish  it  was  that.  She  has  gone  for  a  sleigh 
ride  with  some  man  whom  she  met  near  the  lake." 

"Impossible!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Beekman,  with  posi- 
tive assurance. 

"But  the  proof  of  it  is  plain,"  he  said.  "There  are 
footprints  in  the  snow — hers  by  the  side  of  his  all  the 
way  to  the  roadside,  where  the  sleigh  had  been  wait- 
ing." 

"There  is  some  explanation  of  this  which  will  vindi- 


A  Woman's  Life  Foreshadowed.        139 

cate  her,  Howard,  even  if  what  you  tell  me  is  all  true. 
Tell  me  everything." 

Howard  Beekman  told  his  mother  everything  as  he 
had  observed  it,  and  she  listened  with  a  keener  brain 
than  his! 

"How  long  ago  was  it?"  she  demanded,  glancing  at 
the  clock. 

"There  is  something  peculiar  in  this,'*  she  said. 
"Give  me  my  hat  and  cloak  and  arctics.  We  will  go 
out  together  and  see  if  anything  will  be  revealed  to  us 
together." 

With  a  quickness  that  showed  how  much  in  earnest 
the  old  lady  was,  she  was  ready  for  the  trip,  and  pres- 
ently they  were  both  out  by  the  lake,  examining  the 
footprints. 

"We  must  learn  what  we  can  at  once,"  she  said, 
looking  nervously  up  at  the  sky.  "It  is  going  to  snow 
again,  and  the  tracks  will  be  covered  up." 

It  was  surprising  to  see  with  what  patience  and  skill 
the  old  lady  looked  over  the  ground,  making  her  son, 
however,  feel  as  if  she  were  only  wasting  time  there. 

But  presently  she  cried  out,  as  she  pointed  to  some 
tracks  which  had  completely  escaped  his  notice : 

"Do  you  see  those  footprints?  The  man,  whoever 
he  was,  waited  for  her  behind  a  tree,  and  did  not  let 
his  presence  be  known  until  she  was  ready  to  put  on 
her  skates." 


140        A  Woman's  Life  Foreshadowed. 

dcrfi  see  how  yon  can  tell  that/7  her  son  said. 
"Ah,-. my  boy!"  the  old  lady  said,  with  a  sweet  smile, 
"I  often  think  women  have  faculties  which  are  denied 

.rnos.t  men.    Why,  look!    Her  footmarks  show  that  she 

• 

•came  here  and  faced  the  lake  without  having  a  thought 
of  anybody  being  here.    Can  you  not  see  that?'' 

"Yes,. that  is  -true." 

"Then  do  you  not  see  that  she  turned  hurriedly,  as  if 
he  had  spoken  to  her  and  had  startled  her?" 

"I  shall  begin  to  think  yoy  were  born  a  detective/'- 
he  said  wonderingly. 

"My  son/'  she  said,  "no  one  ever  knows  with  what 
faculties  a  woman  is  born.  It  is  only  a  man  who  can 
choose;  a  woman's  life  is  laid  out  for  her  by  others. 
But  never  mind  that.  Do  you  see  how  the  man  stood 
off  there  and  talked  until  he  had  satisfied  Viola?  Do 
you  not  see  how  he  has  made  quite  a  hollow  in  the  snow 
where  he  stood  and  shifted  his  feet?" 

"Mother,  it  is  wonderful!"  Howard  cried.  "Go  on. 
I  beg  of  you!" 

! 

"I  can  make  no  more  out  here.  Let  us  follow  the 
footsteps." 

Howard  supported  his  mother  as  they  went  as 
quickly  along  in  the  track  ef  the  footprints  as  she  was 
able.  - 

.   When  they  came  near  the  road,  she  suddenly  stopped 
and  pointed  down. 


A  Woman's  Life  Foreshadowed.        141 

"There  are  the  footprints 'of  another  man..  Andf, 
look,  Howard !' can  you  see  her  footprints  any  more? 
It  is  lost  to  nie.  And  see !  That  other  man  was  hidden 
behind  a  tree.  Howard!  there  has  been  treachery  to- 
ward our  little  Viola.  Oh !  how  could  you  have  failed 
to  see  this  when  you  were  here?" 

"Would  that  I  had!"  he  cried  fiercely.  "Oh,  if  this 
be  so,  I  will  pursue  and  punish  the  scoundrels.  But 
what  could  be  the  motive?'* 

"I  do  not  know.  What  does  that  matter?  Oh, 
Howard,  get  out  the  sleigh  and  go  in  pursuit.  Take 
help,  for  there  were  three  men." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  he  demanded, 

"Because  you  can  see  by  the  way  the  snow  was 
pawed  up  that  the  horses  were  restive,  and  would  not 
have  stood  without  a  man  in  the  sleigh  to  hold  the  reins. 
And  we  know  that  there  were  two  men  out  here.  They 
must  have  picked  her  up  and  put  hecJa  the  sleigh." 

"I  will  come  here  and  try  to  follow  -the  sleigh/'  he 
said;  "though  I  do  not  expect  to  4)e  able csto  do  much. 
It  will  be  hard  to  distinguish  its  tracks  in  the  road." 

"True,  but  you  can  inquire  of  everybodyyou  meet 
about  a  two-seated  sleigh.with  three  men. and  a  young 
lady  in: it;  it  is  the  only  thing  you  can  do^  and  will  be 
better  than  sitting  at  home  waiting  in<  idleness/' 

"Yes,"  he  returned  fiercely,  "and  I  may  get  on  thei? 


142        A  Woman's  Life  Foreshadowed. 

track.  Let  us  go  home,  and  I  will  give  the  ordei*  at 
once." 

Within  twenty  minutes  the  horses  had  been  put  to 
the  sleigh,  and  Howard,  armed  with  a  pair  of  re- 
volvers, and  accompanied  by  the  most  courageous  of 
the  men  about  the  place,  was  following  as  best  they 
could  in  pursuit  of  the  abductors  of  Viola. 

But  it  was  a  hopeless  task;  for  even  if  there  had  been 
a  track  which  anybody  could  have  followed,  the  snow 
came  on  at  last,  and  effectually  covered  every  trace. 

They  asked  questions  of  whomever  they  met,  but 
gained  no  information  whatever,  and  at  last  were 
obliged  reluctantly  to  turn  back  toward  home. 

There  was  a  vague  hope  in  the  mind  of  Howard 
Beekman  that  he  would  see  the  bright,  beautiful  face  of 
Viola  when  he  reached  the  house;  but  the  hope  was 
shattered  the  moment  he  looked  into  his  mother's  face. 

"It  was  useless/'  he  said.  "We  could  hear  nothing 
of  her,  and  the  snow  obliterated  all  tracks  in  the  road. 
What  shall  we  do  now?  We  must  do  something,  for 
we  cannot  leave  her  to  her  fate.  We  are  responsible 
for  her." 

"I  have  thought  it  all  out  while  you  were  gone,"  his 
mother  answered  soberly.  "You  must  go  to  the  city 
and  see  her  mother.  It  will  be  a  shock  to  her,  but  it  is 
the  only  way.  She  will  be  able  to  give  us  the  clew  to, 
the  outrage,  perhaps." 


A  Woman's  Life  Foreshadowed.        143 


ou  are  right,"  Howard  said,  looking  at  his  watch. 
6:I  ca-n  catch  the  six-o'clock  express  to  the  city.  I  will 
go  upstairs  and  get  ready  at  once." 

When  he  came  down  his  mother  had  the  address  of 
Mrs.  Redmond,  which  she  put  into  his  hand. 

"Remember  that  she  is  ill,"  she  said  to  him,  "and  do 
not  forget  that  she  is  poor." 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  mother?"  he  asked  reproach- 
fully. "Are  you  afraid  that  I  shall  care  less  for  Viola 
'because  of  the  place  I  find  her  mother  in?" 

"It  would  have  been  natural  if  you  had  been  affected, 
Howard,"  she  answered. 

"Nothing  can  affect  my  love  for  her,"  he  said.  "I 
love  her  so  madly  that  I  would  have  her  at  any  cost.  I 
did  not  know  until  now  how  much  I  love  her,  mother." 


V 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Howard  Beekman  was  an  older  man  than  Walter, 
and  had  led  a  fashionable  life  far  more  years,  so  that 
it  was  not  so  easy  for  him  to  reconcile  himself  to  the 
thought  of  Viola's  mother  living  in  the  poor,  shabby 
tenement  in  front  of  which  he  found  himself  on  the 
night  he  left  home. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  too  much  in  earnest  in  his  pas- 
sion for  Viola  to  think  of  hesitating  fqr  a  moment. 

The  aristocratic  Howard  Beekman  inquired  his. way 
to  Mrs.  Redmond's  apartment  of  a  boy,  and  then  toiled 
tip  the  long  and  rickety  flights  of  stairs. 

He  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  door  of  Mrs,;  Red- 
mond's room,  to  collect  himself  for  the  ordeal  of  look- 
ing upon  the  woman  who  was  the  mother  of  the  girl  he 
loved. 

But  when,  in  response  to  his  knock,  he  heard  the 
sweet,  refined  voice  bid  him  come  in,  his  apprehensions 
vanished,  an.d  he  was  certain  that  he  was  to  enter  the 
presence  of  a  lady. 

He  opened  the  door  with  a  respectful  air  of  courtesy, 
and  was  charmed  to  see  the  face  of  the  invalid. 

It  was  a  great  deal  to  him  to  be  sure  that  she  was  .not 


"I  Love  Your  Daughter."  145 

Coarse  and  vulgar;  and  his  immediate  thought  was  that 
she  had  seen  better  days. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.,  Redmond !"  he  said  cour- 
teously. 

"Good  evening,  sir!"  she  responded,  gazing  at  him 
with  an  air  of  surprise  and  wonder. 

"My  name/'  he  said,  anxious  to  relieve  any  feeling 
of  doubt  she  might  have  concerning  him,  "is  Beekman. 
It  was  , my  child  yottr  daughter  saved  from  a  cruel 
death." 

The  widow's  face  lighted  up  with  pleased  expecta- 
tion, and  she  looked  at  him  more  earnestly  than  be- 
fore; but  even  as  she  looked,  her  mothers  eye  detected 
the  uneasiness  and  concern  depicted  on  his  face,  and 
she  cried  out: 

"Is  anything  wrong?  Has  anything  happened?, 
Tell  me  of  Viola?" 

"I  beg  you  to  be  calm,  Mrs.  Redmond,"  Howard 
said,  seeing  that  the  kindest  way  would  be  to  deal 
frankly  with  her.  "Something  has  happened ;  but  I 
hope  with  your  assistance  to  bring  everything  out 
right." 

Mrs,  Redmond  half  rose  in  her  chair,  a  look  of  fear 
on  her  delicate  face. 

"Have  her  enemies  followed  and  taken  her?1'  she 
cried. 

He  started. 


146  "I  Love  Your  Daughter." 

"Then  she  had  enemies?1'  he  cried.  "You  feared  for 
her?" 

"Tell  me  what  has  happened!"  Mrs.  Redmond  cried. 
"Let  me  know  everything,  and  I  shall  know  better  what 
to  do,  what  to  say/' 

Howard  Beekman  drew  a  chair  near  to  Mrs.  Red- 
mond and  sat  down.  Then  he  told  her  succinctly  what 
had  happened. 

She  listened  with  an  agony  of  mind  hard  to  describe. 
It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  worst  had  happened  to  her 
darling  child,  and  yet  she  only  suspected  that  she  had 
been  followed  by  her  enemies  and  arrested. 

"Oh,  my  poor,  poor  child!"  she  moaned.  "Mr. 
Beekman,  I  must  tell  you  the  whole  truth  in  order  that 
you  may  be  able  to  comprehend  what  has  happened. 
Do  you  know  the  firm  of  Hardman  &  Son?" 

"Very  well." 

She  was  employed  there.  The  son  of  Mr.  Hard- 
man  sa\v  her  and  fell  in  love  with  her." 

"In  love  \vith  her !"  gasped  Howard,  feeling  a  shock 
of  jealousy  run  through  him.  "And — and  did  she 
return  this  love?  Was  it  an  honorable  love?" 

"Perfectly  honorable.  Walter  Hardman  is  a  noble- 
hearted  young  man ;  and  Viola " 

"Do  not  tell  me  that  she  loved  him !"  he  interposed, 
with  pallid  lips. 

The  widow  stared  at  him  \vlth  rjnnzement. 


"I  Love  Your  Daughter/'  147 

"She  did  return  his  love,"  she  replied.  "Is  there 
any  reason  that  you  know  why  it  should  not  be?" 

''Oh,  Heaven!"  he  cried;  "I  know  the  best  of  rea- 
sons. I  love  your  daughter,,,  and  have  cherished  the 
hope  that  some  day  I  might  win  her  love  and  make  her 
my  wife.  I  know  that  I  am  much  older,  but  age  should 
be  no  bar.  I  would  make  her  rich,  and  would  strive 
with  all  my  soul  to  make  her  happy.  My  mother  loves 
her  dearly,  and  looks  forward  to  the  happy  consumma- 
tion of  my  hope." 

Mrs.  Redmond  shook  her  head  pityingly. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said  earnestly.  "I  am  the  more 
sorry  because  I  know  that  his  love  for  her  is  the  cause 
of  all  her  misery." 

"Then  why  should  she  not  be  weaned  from  him? 
Why  would  it  not  be  well  to  lead  her  heart  from  him, 
so  that  I  may  make  her  happy?" 

The  widow  shook  her  head. 

"Do  you  know  so  little  of  the  passion  of  love,  sir? 
Ah !  you  could  never  cause  those  two  hearts  to  love  any 
other.  But  you  will  understand  why  I  wish  she  could 
love  you  when  you  hear  my  story." 

With  this  she  told  him  what  had  happened  to  Viola, 
explaining  besides  what  the  detective,  who  had  visited 
her  several  times,  had  told  her  of  the  probable  nature 
of  the  plot  against  Viola. 

"I  see  it  all,"  Howard  said.  ."They  have  traced  her 


148  "I  Love  Your  Daughter/' 

to  my  house,  and  have  stolen  her  away  with  the  aid  of 
an  officer  of  the  law.  Even  now  she  may  be,  arid  prob- 
ably is,  locked  up  in  some  prison  cell.  Oh,  I  must  see 
this  detective  who  has  been  so  kind!  I  wilt  tell  him 
what  has  happened,  and*  it  may  be  that  he  will  know 
what  to  suggest/' 

"Thank. you,  sir/'  Mrs.  Redmond  said. 

"And  do  not  fear  any  more,"  Mr.  Beekman  said 
earnestly.  "I 'am  rich,  and  I  will  spend  every  cent  I 
have,  if  necessary,  in  order  to  rescue  her.  Have  no- 
doubt  that  we  will  expose  this  terrible  plot  against  her, 
and  free  her  fair  name.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  beg 
of  you," 

"What  is  it?  If  it  is  anything  in  my  power  I  wilt 
accede  to  it." 

"You  admitted  that  it  would  be  better  for  Viola  if 
she  were  my  wife.  In  all  the  world  there  is  no  one  who 
would  vSeek  to  injure  her  because  she  was  loved  by  me. 
If  she  were  mine  she  would  be  safe  from  harm/" 

"Alas!  I  see  that.  But  of  what  avail  is  it  to  ad- 
mit it?"  .  .  ••:  .,  • 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said  vehemently.  "Waiter  Hard- 
man  is  but  a  boy,  dependent  on  the  favor  of  his  father. 
My  wealth  is  all  my,  own,  and  at  the  .mercy. of  no  one." 

"I  realize  that.     B-tft  what  ^f  it?  -  She^loves  him.". 

"Yes;  "'but  "if -he  has  deserted  her,  and  is  of  "no1  use  to 


X  Lpve  ^o;ir  Daughter/' 


her  in  the  .hour.  of  her  dire  peril,  what  right  has  he  to 
stand  between  her  and  me?" 

"Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Redmond,  "'I  would  choose  you  for 
her-  husband,  for  I  am.sure  you  would  make  her  happy., 
and  then  all  her  troubles  would  be  over  when  she  was 
your  wife.  But  of  what  avail  is  it  what  I  prefer  ?  She 
loves  him,  ,  and  will  never  give  him  up." 

"But  I  love  her,"  he  said  doggedly.  "They  say 
everything  is  fair  in  love  and  war.  Will  you  help  me 
to  win  her?" 

"II  will  do  anything  I  can'for  yoli,"  she  said.  "Wal- 
ter has  gone  away,  to  be  gone/a  year,  and  during  that 
time  her  enemies  may  ruin  her  fair  young  life.  I  freely 
say  I  would  rejoice  to  see  her  your  wife." 

"And  when  the  time  comes,  then,"  he  said  eagerly, 
"you  will  be  ready  to  add  the  weight  of  your  word 
to  my  pleading?" 

"Assuredly  I  will." 

"Then,"  he  cried  hopefully,  "I  shall  win  her.  Al- 
ready I  have  a  plan  in  'thy  mind,  which  seems  to  me 
will  enable  me  to  find  her." 

"You  will  go  at  once  to  the  detective,  will  you  not?" 
she  asked  anxiously. 

"No;  and  I  beg  you  not  to  say  a  word  to  the  detec- 
tive should  he  chance  to  call  on  you.  Give  me  a  Lew 
hours  in  which  to  report.  If  I  do  not  come  to  you 
Corning,  or  even  by  mid^ght  ;  to-night,.  and 


150  'I  Love  Your  Daughter." 

&ay  that  I  shall  set  her  free,  you  may  then  apply  to  the 
detective/' 

"But  anything  may  happen  in  the  meantime/'  she 
said  anxiously.  "Remember  she  is  my  child!" 

"And  she  is  my  love.  Better  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  I  love  her.  I  swear  to  you  that  I  will  leave  no 
t tone  unturned  to  set  her  free  and  make  her  happv  " 


CHAPTER  XX. 

CUPID     AT     ANY     COST. 

Howard  Beekman  left  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Red- 
mond, filled  with  the  idea  of  separating  Viola  from 
Walter.  He  had  spoken  no  more  than  the  truth  when 
he  had  said  that  his  not  overkeen  mind  had  conceived 
a  scheme  which  had  every  promise  of  yielding  good 
results. 

He  hastened  from  the  poor  tenement  to  the  nearest 
taxicab  stand,  and  gave  the  address  of  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  mansions  in  the  city. 

When  the  house  was  reached  he  mounted  its  steps 
with  a  feeling  quite  different  from  that  which  had 
stirred  him  on  going  up  the  creaking  steps  to  Mrs. 
Redmond's  room. 

"Is  Miss  Carroll  at  home?"  he  asked  of  the  servant, 
and  was  shown  with  obsequious  attention  into  the  re- 
ception room. 

Howard  paced  the  floor  of  the  room  while  the  serv- 
ant was  delivering  his  card.  He  knew  Eunice  Carroll, 
having  met  her  in  society,  and  it  was  in  direct  pursu- 
ance of  his  plan  that  he  had  come  to  her,  who,  he 
had  no  doubt,  was  one  of  the  enemies  who  was  perse- 
cuting Viola. 


152  Cupid  at  any  Cost. 

Presently  he  heard  the  rustling  of  her  silk  skirts 
as  she  swept  down  the  staircase.  He 'seated  "himself 
and  waited  with  cafm  face,  prepared  to  meet  the 
haughty  beauty. 

Eunice  wondered  why  she  should  be  called  on  by 
Howard  Beekman.  She  asked  herself  if  it  was  pos- 
sible that  he  suspected  her  of  having  had  any  hand 
in  the  abduction  of  his  guest. 

But  she  had  the  wit  to  act  as  if  that  was  the  last 
thing  in  her  mind.  She  entered  the  room  with  a  pleas- 
ant smile  on  her  face,  and  with  her  little  hand  out- 
stretched. 

"I  am  so  pleased  to  see  you,  .Mr.  Beekman//  she 
said.  "I  had  heard  you  were  living  in  the  country  this 
•winter/' 

He  smiled  and  looked  fixedly  into  her  dark  eyes. 

"Who  was  it  told  you  I  was  in  the  country ?"  he 
asked. 

A  faint  shade  of  color  tinted  her  olive  cheeks  as  he 
spoke  in  this  peculiar  manner,  but  she  answered 
steadily : 

"I  don't  think  I  could  recall.  It  is  generally  known, 
is  it  not?" 

"I  think  it  is,  Miss  Carroll/'  fie  aaswered.  "But 
never  mind  that.  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you.  I 
,  wonder  if  yoti  will  grant  it?" 


Cupid  at  any  Cost.  153 

"Better  make  the  request  and  find  out,  then/'  she 
said,  with  a  smile, 

"It  is  a  serious  matter/-  he  said.  -"I  am  much  older 
than  you,  Miss  Carroll,  but  I  am  not  so  old  that  I 
cannot  feel  the  throbbing  of  love  in  my  heart.  It  is 
in  your  power  to  aid  me  win  the  object  of  my  love, 
and  I  have  come  to  beg  you  to  do  it." 

"But,  Mr.  Beekman!"  she  stammered,  gazing  at  him 
with  a  sort  of  dismay.  For  it  was  not  possible,  from 
his  words/  to  be  sure  that  she  was  not  the  person  he 
referred  to. 

"I'hbpe  you  will  do  as  I  wish, "-he  said  earnestly.  "I 
know  that  I  am  appealing  to  one  who  knows  the  power 
of  love.  Tarn  sure  that  you  love  Walter  Hardman. 
That'beiiig  so,  you  ~shouldl  be  willing  to  help  me/* 

.-.She  closed  her  lips  tightly  together.  She  could  not 
yet  comprehend  what  he  meant,  afid  was  only  store  that 
he  did  not:  meditate  a  proposal-  to  her. 

"I  do  not  know  by  what  right  you  make  that  asser- 
tion," $he  said  coldly.  . 

"Dp  ..not  be  angry/'  he  said.  "I  was  forced  to  ap- 
proach my  point  in  this  way,  in  order  that  you  might 
fully  understand  me.,  I  love  Viola  Redmond,  and  I 
know  she  is  in  your  way.  Will  you  not  be  frank  with 
me  now?  She  does  no$  love  me,  but  yet  I  .must  win 
her.  WQ  can  help  each  other  if  you  only  will." 
i.  "Why  da  you  appeal  to  me  in  this  way?"  ,..r 


154  Cupid  at  any  Cost. 

"Because  I  know  that  you  have  been  instrumental 
in  spiriting  her  away  from  my  house.  You  see,  I  am 
frank  with  you." 

"You  are  mistaken/'  Eunice  said,  her  face  paling. 

"No,  I  am  not  mistaken/'  he  said.  "I  know  your 
whole  plot  with  that  man,  Harriem.  I  could  have  her 
found  and  set  free.  But  if  I  do  that,  she  will  go  on 
loving  Walter  Hardman,  and  what  I  wish  is  to  separate 
those  two.  So  I  come  to  you  to  ask  you  to  help  me  win 
her,  while  at  the  same  time  you  win  back  Walter  Hard- 
man. Will  you  do  it?" 

"How  can  I  aid  you?    What  am  I  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"You  are  to  reveal  all  the  details  of  your  plot  to 
me,  and  let  me  turn  the  situation  to  my  own  advan- 
tage.'1 

"If  I  could  only  be  sure  that  you  would  deal  fairly 
with  me,"  she  said. 

"The  best  pledge  of  that,"  he  rejoined,  "is  the  fact 
that  otfir  interests  are  identical." 

"But  I,"  she  said,  ,vith  an  outburst  of  fierceness  that 
startled  him,  "will  have  Walter  at  any  cost  Nothing 
shall  stand  in  my  way.  I  will  crush  to  the  earth  any 
human  being  who  comes  between  him  and  me.  Are 
you  willing  to  go  so  far?'1 

"I  will  go  any  lengths,"  he  replied.  "My  life  is 
bound  up  in  her,  and  I  must  have  her." 

I  will  tell  you  what  I  have  done. 


Cupid  at  any  Cost.  155 

But  let  me  warn  you,  Mr.  Beekman,  it  would  be  far 
better  for  you  to  put  yourself  under  the  claws  of 
an  enraged  tigress  than  to  attempt  to  play  rne  false." 

"Have  no  such  fear.  If  I  had  wished  to  betray  you, 
why  need  I  have  come  to  you  at  all  ?  It  is  Viola  I  wish, 
and  that  is  all." 

"I  believe  you/'  Eunice  said,  calming  herself. 
"What  I  have  done  is  simple.  Peter  Harriem  fol- 
lowed Viola  and  knew  you  had  taken  her  into  your 
home  in  the  country." 

"She  has  been  under  surveillance  since  the  first, 
then?"  he  cried. 

"Since  the  first  moment  she  encountered  you  at  the 
station/'  was  the  response.  "I  engaged  the  services  of 
an  unscrupulous  detective,  who  has  abducted  her,  and 
who  is  to  confine  her  in  a  cell  made  to  resemble  a  prison 
cell.  She  is  to  be  tried  as  if  by  a  real  court,  and  is  to 
be  sentenced  to  prison  for  ten  years.  By  that  time  we 
hope  to  have  her  fears  so  worked  on  that  she  will  be 
willing  to  marry  Peter  Harriem  in  order  to  become 
free.  That  was  the  plan.  It  only  needs  to  substitute 
you  for  him.  He  knows  nothing  of  her  abduction. 
How  does  the  plan  strike  you?" 

"It  will 'not  do.  I  have  a  better.  Let  all  be  done 
as  you  say,  though  it  tears  my  soul  to  think  of  sub- 
jecting her  to  such  misery.  But  instead  of  asking  her 
to  wed  me  to  free  herself,  it  will  be  better  for  me  to 


156  Cupid  at  any  Cost. 

offer  myself  to  free  her  from  prison.  Then  I  will  take 
her  to  my  home  secretly,  and  hide  her  there  in  the 
upper  rooms." 

"I  see.  She  will  be  hidden  from  the  world  then,  and 
will  make  no  effort  to  free  herself.  But  how  will  you 
win  her,  then?" 

"I  will  make  her  believe  that  Walter  is  false  to  her 
before  I  utter  one  word  oMove;" 

"The  plan  is  good.: ;  I  will  give  you  the  address  of 
the  house  where  she  is  imprisoned,  and  you  may  con- 
sult with  the  men.1  Ah,  we  will  separate  them  yet !" 


CHAPTER 

.      •'  :'  .    '  ;•".•         -•.'•:'  '  ;''••' 

"DON'T  THROW  ME  ASIDE/' 

Peter  Harriett!  was  delighted  with  himself.  He  be- 
lieved he  had  managed  the  affair  of  Viola  with  a  skill 
that  redounded  greatly  to  his  credit. 

He  liad  put  his  brains  into  the  scheme,  and  others 
did  the  work  and  paid  the  entire  expenses  of  it,  besides. 

The  only  trouble  he  had  was  that  he  could  not  fully 
trust  Eunice. 

So  he  spent  much  of  his  spare  time  in  going  where 
he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  her,  in  order  that  he  might 
judge  by  her  expression  how  the  plot  was  succeeding. 

Then,  because  there  was  no  other  way  of  doing,  he 
took  an  occasional  trip  to  see  Viola  herself. 

His  plan,  when  in  the  Beekmah  grounds,  was  to  hide 
behind  a  tree  and  watch  for  Viola. 

After  he  had  seen  her,  and  had  gloated  r6ver  her 
fresh  young  beauty  for  a  while,  he  would  sneak  away 
and  take  the  train  home. 

But  as  he  knew  that  Eunice  must  have  agents,  he 
watched  for  them,  too,  and  bne  day  he  detected  a  fel- 
low stealing  through  the  trees,  and  hiding. 

That  man  he  followed  with  such  success  that,  al- 
though he  was  left  behind  the  first  time,  the  second 


158  ''Don't  Throw  Me  Aside/' 

time  he  discovered  the  house  which  the  conspirators 
were  preparing  for  their  unhappy  prisoner. 

After  that  Peter's  only  task  was  to  learn  when  Viola 
was  abducted.  No  wonder  he  felt  like  the  master  of 
the  situation. 

One  night  he  was  sneaking  past  the  Carroll  mansion, 
when  a  gentleman  stepped  out  of  a  cab  and  swept  up 
the  steps  to  the  door. 

Always  on  the  alert,  Peter  immediately  timed  his 
steps  so  that  he  could  turn  about  and  walk  back  in 
time  to  see  the  gentleman  \vhen  the  door  opened. 

"'Howard  Beekman !"  he  muttered.  "What  is  he 
doing  there?  I  will  find  out  somehow." 

He  puzzled  his  brains  for  an  idea  until  at  last  he 
saw  Howard  Beekman  come  out  of  the  house  again. 

A  person  less  shrewd  than  he  was  must  have  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  there  was  a  difference  between  the 
way  Howard  had  gone  into  the  house  and  the  way 
he  came  out. 

"He  has  been  successful  in  whatever  he  went  there 
for/'  was  wrhat  Peter  said  to  himself. 

And  as  that  idea  flashed  into  his  brain,  another  came 
with  it. 

"What  would  Howard  Beekman,  Viola's  employer, 
have  to  say  to  Eunice  Carroll  that  should  make  him 
happy?  What  but  :  :  ;  arrangement  with  her  that 
would  give  Ir  s  Viola/' 


"Don't  Throw  Me  Aside."  159 

He  saw  how  his  chances  were  imperiled,  and  his  face 
grew  white  with  anger  and  fear.  Nevertheless,  he  did 
not  think  of  giving  up. 

He  walked  several  times  around  the  block  to  give 
himself  time  to  recover  his  self-control  and  to  collect 
his  ideas. 

Then  he  \valked  up  to  the  door  of  the  Carroll  man- 
sion and  rang  the  bell  with  an  assured  hand. 

The  footman's  stare  at  him  was  supercilious,  but 
the  servant  recalled  that  the  same  sneaking-looking  in- 
dividul  had  once  before  been  admitted  to  the  house, 
and  he  admitted  him. 

When  her  maid,  Stella,  told  her  that  Peter  Harriem 
was  waiting  for  her  in  the  reception  room,  Eunice 
frowned,  and  was  on  the  point  of  sending  word  that 
she  could  not  see  him. 

But  she  changed  her  mind  and  bade  the  maid  take 
word  that  she  would  see  him  in  a  few  minutes. 

So  she  took  time  to  make  up  her  mind  what  she 
would  say  to  him.  Then  she  went  down  to  the  draw- 
ing-room and  found  Peter  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a 
chair. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Harriem  1  is  it  you?"  said  Eunice  lan- 
guidly. 

Peter  knew  by  her  tone  that  she  was  going  to  try  tc 
deceive  him  in  some  way. 

"Yes,  Miss  Carroll,"  he  said  fawningly.    "I  thought 


6o  "Don't  Throw  Me  Asicte/' 

I  would  com«  to  ask  you  if  you  had  decided  what  you 
would  do  about  that  girl." 

"Girl  I"  repeated  Eunice,  with  a  slight  raising  of  the 
eyebrows.  "Oh,  yon  mean  that  wretched  creature  who 
stole  my  ring?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "the  one  who  stole  your  ring." 

"What  was  the  use  of  doing  anything?"  she  queried 
carelessly.  "I  thought  you  would  do  whatever  was 
necessary.  She  was  out  of  my  way  already." 

"Yes,  she  was  out  of  your  way,  it  is  true,"  he  said. 
"But  she  has  been  able  to  write  to  Walter." 

Eunice  started. 

"To  Walter!"  she  cried,  her  appearance  of  indiffer- 
ence disappearing.  "How  do  you  know  that?" 

"If  I  had  no  other  way  of  telling  than  by  reason- 
ing, I  would  be  sure  of  it.  But  I  know  it  from  his 
father.  Walter  has  cabled." 

"Gabled  what?" 

"That  he  is  coming  home." 

"Coming  home !     Walter  coming  home !     Why  ?" 

Peter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"She  has  written  him  about  her  arrest,  I  suppose. 
She  may  even  have  told  him  the  whole  story  of  the 
ring." 

Eunice  turned  pale.  She  wondered  why  she  had  not 
thought  of  all  that  before.  She  cursed  herself  for  not 
having  taken  measures  te  prevent  any  correspondence. 


"Don't  Throw  Me  Aside."  161. 

"I  will  kill  her  if  she  has/'  she  hissed.  "I  will  not 
let  her  have  him!" 

"If  you  have  done  nothing  as  yet,"  Peter  said,  "I  do! 
not  see  what  you  can  do  now.  For  my  part,  I  shall 
give  her  up  and  try  to  make  terms  with  Walter.  H0 
will  never  forgive  anybody  who  has  injured  Viola/' 

Eunice  sprang  to  her  feet,  forgetful  of  the  part  she  ! 
had  set  out  to  play,  and  thinking  only  of  the  possibility 
of  losing  Walter. 

"She  is  in  my  power!57  she  cried.  "I  will  destroy 
her!" 

"How  can  she  be  in  your  power  when  she  is  not  in 
prison?"  he  feaid.  "Ah,  if  we  had  only  carried  out 
that  plan,  I  could  see  a  way  by  which  we  could  make 
Walter  think  her  story  to  him  a  pure  falsehood.  But 
it  is  too  late.  We  might  as  well  give  up." 

"Give  up?     Never!    But  I  do  not  see  what  differ-  ; 
ence  it  would  make  if  we  had  her  in  our  hands.    What 
;  could  you  do?" 

Peter  was  quite  convinced  now  that  Viola  had  been 
abducted,  and  that  Eunice  had  intended  to  play  him 
false. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  his  exasperating1 
humility,  and  whined: 

"What  is  the  use  of  talking  about  it?  Good  night, 
Miss  Eunice!  I  am  sorry  our  pretty  little  plot  should 
have  miscarried/' 


"Don't  Throw  Me  Aside." 

He  rose  to  go.  But  she  glided  in  front  of  him  and 
detained  him,  her  lips  trembling. 

''Tell  me  what  you  would  have  done  had  we  carried 
out  our  plan  of  abducting  her?"  she  said. 

"What  is  the  use  of  wasting  time  over  that?"  he  said. 
"Abduct  her  first,  and  I  will  show  you  how  we  could 
make  Walter's  visit  an  advantage  to  you." 

"She  is  abducted!"  Eunice  cried  fiercely.  "I  have 
just  received  word." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows,  then  smiled  cunningly. 

''And  yet  you  tried  to  make  me  believe  you  had 
forgotten  about  her.  Oh,  Miss  Carroll,  I  am  afraid 
you  only  think  she  is  abducted." 

"I  tell  you  it  is  true.     See !  read  this  letter." 

She  snatched  a  letter  from  her  pocket  and  showed 
it  to  Peter.  He  noticed  that  it  was  postmarked  in  the 
city  and  had  a  special-deli veiy  stamp. 

He  knew  by  that  that  a  messenger  had  been  sent 
from  up  the  river,  and  that  he  had  posted  the  letter 
after  his  arrival. 

He  opened  the  letter  and  read  it  carefully,  Eunice 
standing  in  front  of  him  gnawing  her  red  lips. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  replaced  the  letter  in  the  en- 
velope, "I  see  that  she  is  in  your  hands." 

"Now  tell  me  your  plan,"  she  said. 

He  rubbed  his  hands  together  for  a  moment,  a  pe- 
culiar smile  k  his  beady  eves. 


"Don't  Throw  Me  Aside."  163 

"Tell  me  yours  first/'  he  said. 

"My  plan!  you  know  it  was  to  try  her  and  then  let 
you  win  her  in  marriage  by  offering  to  release  her." 

His  smile  broadened  on  his  gaunt  face,  and  he 
rubbed  his  hands  harder  than  ever. 

"What  was  your  arrangement  with  Mr.  Howard 
Beekman?"  he  asked. 

She  started.  She  saw  that  she  had  been  detected  in 
her  plot  with  Howard.  But  she  cared  nothing  for 
Howard.  She  only  cared  to  win  Walter. 

"What  do  you  know  of  that?"  she  demanded  sharply. 

"I  know  that  you  made  some  arrangement  with  him, 
and  that  you  intended  to  let  me  take  care  of  myself/' 
he  answered.  "I  think  you  would  find  me  a  better  help 
than  Mr.  Beekman." 

She  thought  so  herself,  now.  This  fawning  wretch 
was  shrewder  than  she  had  thought.  The  only  thing 
was  to  betray  to  him  what  she  had  agreed  on  with 
Howard. 

This  she  did  without  compunction.  Peter  listened 
to  the  end  with  a  smiling  face. 

"Now  tell  me  your  plan,"  she  said,  when  she  had 
finished  her  narration. 

He  let  something  in  the  nature  of  a  grin  flit  across 
his  face. 

"I  had  no  plan.  Walter  is  not  coming  home.  I 
merely  wished  to  show  you  that  you  would  be  unwise 


n6:|.  "Don't  Throw  Me  Aside/' 

ko  try  to  throw  me  aside.  You  cannot  do  without  me. 
I  have  followed  everything  .you  have  done.  You  see, 
I  was  here^at  the  right  time.  Give  me  a  letter  to  your 
men,  saying  I  am  the  one  to  be  obeyed,  I  will  look 
put  for  the  rest/" 

Eunice's  black  eyes  blazed  as  they  looked  on  the  man 
who  had  tricked  her  into  a  betrayal  of  herself.  But  she 
realized  that  he  was  far  too  shrewd  to  be  trifled  with. 

If  she  would  win  Walter  it  must  be  through  him  and 
not  through  Howard. 

" Will  you  promise  not  to  embroil  me  with  Mr.  Beek- 
nian?"  she  asked. 

"I  shall  make  use  of  him  just  aa  I  have  of  you/*  he 
fcaid  slyly. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

INNOCENT    OF    THE    CRIME. 

Poor  little  Viola!  So  far  as  she  was  concerned  the! 
deception  was  perfect. 

.  She  believed  she  had  been  arrested  for  the  crime 
;bf  which,. she  was  not  guilty;  and  as  she  recalled  the 
circumstances  of  her  previous  arrest,  she  had  no  doubt 
that  she  would  be  convicted. 

The  troubled  night  had  gone  by,  and  she  sat  in  her 
little  cell  trying  to  compose  her  mind  to  the  terrible 
truth  which  she  believed  confronted  her. 

When  the  man  came  in  the  morning  with  her  break- 
fast, she  asked  him  a  number  of  questions  which  de- 
lighted the  conspirators  who  listened  to  his  report. 

They  knew  positively  now  that  their  ruse  had  been 
successful.     They  prepared  with  a  good  heart  to  im-  i 
pose  upon  her  to  the  end. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  her  jailer  came 
to  her  to  bid  her  get  ready  to  go  with  him  to  the  court-  ; 
room,  where  the  judge  was  waiting. 

She  was  taken  upstairs  into  a  room  which  had  been 
made  to  look  somewhat  judicial  by  a  few  little  devices. 

"What  is  this  case?"  the  wretch  impersonating  the 
judge  demanded  of  the  man  playing  the  part  of  jailer. 


166  Innocent  of  the  Crime. 

'This  is  the  case  of  the  girl  who  is  charged  with 
stealing  a  diamond  ring  from  Miss  Eunice  Carroll/' 
was  the  response. 

"Are  there  any  witnesses?"  demanded  the  judge. 

"Three,  your  honor/'  was  the  response. 

"Your  honor/'  said  a  third  man,  who  had  the  air  of  a 
lawyer,  "I  move  that  the  trial  be  postponed  so  that  a 
jury  may  be  impaneled.  This  is  an  important  case, 
and  I  think  it  proper  that  a  jury  trial  be  held/' 

The  judge  frowned.  Viola  clasped  her  hands  in  ter- 
ror, and  burst  forth  in  a  broken  voice  that  should  have 
softened  a  heart  of  stone : 

"Oh,  sir,  I  am  innocent  of  this  crime !  Indeed,  I 
never  thought  of  touching  the  young  lady's  jewels.  I 
am  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy/' 

"There,  there !  that  will  never  do,  my  girl,"  said  the 
judge  sternly.  "If  you  are  going  to  talk  in  that  way, 
there  will  remain  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  to  impanel 
a  jury.  I  had  hoped  you  would  be  reasonable.  But 
I  see  how  it  is :  nothing  short  of  a  trial  will  satisfy  you. 
But  let  me  tell  you,  my  girl,  that,  with  the  evidence 
against  you,  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  hope  to  escape 
!  a  sentence  of  fifteen  years,  at  least,  unless  you  choose 
to  plead  guilty ;  in  which  case  I  will  make  the  sentence 
ten  years/' 

Poor  eblldl  fiow  was  she  to  guess  that  these  men 


Innocent  of  the  Crime.  167 

were  vile  impostors  who  were  making  a  ridiculous 
travesty  of  the  law? 

"I  am  innocent,  I  am  innocent,"  she  sobbed. 

"Take  her  away!"  roared  the  pretended  judge;  "and 
bring  that  fellow  here  from  number  nineteen,  so  that 
I  may  sentence  him  to  death.  Let  in  the  people  who  are 
waiting  outside/' 

Viola  w^s  led  away  unresisting.  She  neither  cried 
nor  sobbed  now,  but  maintained  a  terrible  calm. 

The  talk  of  sentencing  a  man  to  death  had  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  her  terror.  There  was  neither 
doubt  nor  hope  in  her  mind. 

When  she  was  well  out  of  the  way,  the  men  in  the 
room  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"I  call  that  pretty  well  done,"  said  the  man,  who 
had  played  the  part  of  lawyer. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Purdy,  who  had  impersonated  the 
judge,  "I  flatter  myself  we  made  no  mistake  there. 
The  trial,  however",  will  be  harder  work." 

"What's  the  use  of  a  trial?"  demanded  the  oilier, 
who  was  known  as  Steve  Bolton.  "Why  can't  we  let 
it  go  as  it  is?  We  can't  very  well  frighten  her  any 
more,  and  we  may  spoil  what  we  have  done.  Ah ! 
there  is  a  rap  at  the  door.  Shall  I  go  ?" 

"I  will,"  said  Purdy.  "You  never  can  tell  what  is 
going  to  happen." 


»l68  Innocent  of  the  Crime. 

.  He  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it  He  started  back 
at  t He  sight- of  one  whom  he  had  every  reason  to  fear. 
Howard  Beekman  stood  there. 

"Well," .demanded  Purdy,  "what  d'you  want?" 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  Miss  Viola  Redmond/' 
was  .the  response. 

A  dangerous  gleam  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  scoun- 
drel 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  any  such  person/' 
he.  said. 

"Yes,  you  do.  Don't  be  afraid  of  me.  I  come  with 
a  letter  from  Miss  Carroll.  It  will  tell  you  that  I  am 
to.be  trusted,"-  . 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Purdy  and  waited  patiently 
.while  he  read  it.  As  soon  as  the  latter  had  finished  it, 
he  said  suspiciously : 

"I  don't  know  about  it/' 

"Pshaw!"  said  Mr.  Beekman  impatiently.  "Even  if 
you  choose  to  doubt  me  after  reading  the  letter,  I  sup- 
pose it  is  only  a  matter  of  money,  I  assure  you  the 
letter  is  genuine.  I  know  all  about  the  plan  to  .abduct 
and  try  the  young  lady.  Nevertheless,  I  will, pay*  yqu 
liberally  if  you  will  assist  me  as  the  letter  demands." 

"It  seems  kind  o'  funny  for  you  to  be  coming  when 
the-—" 

."When  yo&  j-ust  took  her  from  my  house,"  inter" 


Innocent  of  the  Crime.  169 

jetted  Mr.  Beekman.    "Yes,  I  understand  that.    Bat  it 
is  a  fact,  nevertheless.     Will  you  do  as  I  wish?'1 

Purdy  considered  for  a  moment. 

•"If  I  am  well  paid  I  will  do  anything  not  too  danger- 
ous," he  answered. 

"Then  let  us  go  itiside,"  Mr.  Beekman  said. 

The  door  closed  on  them,  and  Purdy's  accomplices 
came  up  to  them. 

Howard  Beekman  shuddered  inwardly  at  the  looks 
of  the  men  he  was  plotting  with  against  the  girl  he  de- 
clared he  loved. 

But  the  thought  of  Walter  hardened  his  heart  against 
every  thought  of  a  better  course,  and  he  ; said  dog- 
gedly: 

"Tell  me  what  you  have  done  thus  far." 

Purdy  told  him  circumstantially,  and  a  twinge  of* 
sharp  pain  darted  through  Howard  Beekman's  heart 
as  he  listened. 

"She  is  horribly  frightened  now/'  Bolton  said,  with 
a  coarse  laugh,  "and  I  have  been  saying  we  might  just 
as  well  let  it  rest  where  it  is  as  to  take  the  chances  of 
playing  the  rest  of  the  game.1' 

"I  agrfe  with  you/'  said  Howard. 

"And'  feow  will  you  carry  out  the  rest  of  the  plot?" 
demanded  Purdy. 

"I  have  thought  of  that/'  replied  Howard.  "She 
must -have  some  money  with  her.  WJiy  not  let  th. 


170  Innocent  of  the  Crime. 

man  who  plays  the  part  of  jailer  offer  to  give  her  a 
chance  to  escape  if  she  will  give  him  what  she  has?" 

"That  is  all  right.     Then  what?" 

"Then  I  will  meet  her  outside  some  distance  from 
here,  and  will  not  let  her  suspect  that  I  know  anything 
about  what  has  happened.  If  she  tells  me,  I  will  pre- 
tend to  be  frightened  for  her,  and  will  offer  to  hide 
her  in  my  house.  If  she  agrees  she  will  be  practically 
out  of  the  world,  and  no  one  will  know  wrhere  she  i ;.  ' 

"The  thing  will  wrork,"  said  Purdy,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  reflection.  "She  is  so  frightened  now  that  she 
will  be  ready  to  do  anything  to  escape  from  here.  It 
shall  be  done.  How  about  your  little  contribution?" 

"How  much  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"A  thousand  apiece  will  be  little  enough,  I  think," 
was  the  answer. 

"Here  are  two  thousand  dollars,"  Mr.  Beeknian  re- 
sponded, producing  the  money.  "I  will  give  you  the 
remainder  any  time  you  may  set." 

"I  will  meet  you  near  the  lake  in  yovir  grounds  to- 
night," Purdy  answered. 

"Do  not  injure  Miss  Redmond,"  Howrard  said.  "Do 
not  be  rough  in  order  to  play  your  parts  too  well." 

Purdy  laughed. 

"I  suppose  you  want  to  have  the  monopoly  of  all 
that  yourself.  All  right.  You  have  paid  for  it,  and  she 
shaH  be  treated  right.  You  may  tro  away  with  a  coin- 


Innocent  of  the  Crime.  171 

plete  assurance  that  she  will  be  released  within  two 
hours/* 

"I  suppose  she  will  go  out  by  the  back  door?"  queried 
Howard/' 

"Yes,  that  will  be  the  best  way.    Good  day,  sir/' 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

SEEMINGLY     GUILTY. 

Howard  Beekman  had  lived  all  his  life  an  honorable 
man,  yet  he  was  now  plotting  against  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  the  woman  he  professed  to  love. 

He  left  the  men  with  a  shudder  because  of  the  evil 
that  was  in  them.  And  yet  he  was  worse  than  they. 
For  he  would  go  from  them  and  pass  in  the  world  as  a 
good  man. 

But  while  there  was  remorse  in  his  breast  for  what 
he  was  doing  against  Viola,  there  was  no  hesitation. 

"She  will  learn  to  love  me  better  than  ever  she  did 
Walter,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  walked  away  from 
the  house,  and  found  shelter  from  the  winds  in  the 
woods  net  far  away. 

Purdy,  in  the  meantime,  had  turned  to  his  associates, 
when  they  were  alone,  and  had  said : 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter  what  happens,  we  have 
made  a  good  bit  of  business  out  of  this.  Now^  Mr. 
Jailer,  do  your  part  of  the  play,  and  we  shall 'soon  be 
rid  of  the  girl,  and  will,  moreover,  be  some  few  thou- 
sands in  pocket  now,  to  say  nothing  of  several  thou- 
sands more  in  the  way  of  blackmail  later  on." 

Steve  Bolton  laughed, 


Seemingly  Guilty.  173 

"Oli!M  he  cried,  "to  think  of  the  rich  picking  there 
will  be  in  the  days  to  come,  -when  our  good  friends  are 
safely  married.  We  can  bleed  Beekman  and  Miss  Car- 
roll until  they  will  wish  they. had  never  heard  of  us." 

All  three  laughed  boisterously,  and  the  jailer  went 
down  to  Viola's  cell,  to  play  his  nefarious  role. 

He  opened  the  door  and  looked  in  on  her,  saying 
with  a  gruff  sort  of  sympathy: 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  miss?  '  Fm  a 
father  and  have  a  daughter  not  fair  from  your  age,  and 
I  wouldn't  like  to  see  her  in  such  a  scrape/' 

"Oh,  sir,"  cried  Viola,  "if  I  were  guilty  it  would  be 
a  different  matter.  But  I  am  innocent,  as  innocent  as 
your  own  daughter !" 

"If  I  only  thought  so/'  the  man  said,  "I  would  risk 
a  good  deal  to  help  you." 

"Help  me!  Can.  any  one  help  me  now?"  she  cried 
eagerly.  "Oh,  if  you  will  but  aid  me  I  will  promise 
3'ou—  But,  alas!  how.. c^m  B  promise  anything?  I 
li  i'/e  some  money  with  me.  Wilt  you  take  that?  Oh, 
i  f  I  could  only  escape !" 

"Do  y^u  think  I  would  take  your  money^miss?     If 
you  are  innocent— and  I  can't  help  .thinking  you.  are, 
somehow— I  will  try  to  let  you  escape,  if  it  costs  me  .my' 
place.    But  ao, ..there  is  Bill,  the  turnkey;  he  would  have 
to  have  money  to  get  him  to  keep  out  qf  the  way," 


l/^f  Seemingly  Guilty. 

Viola  drew  her  money  from  her  pocket  and  thrust 
it  eagerly  into  his  hand,  saying: 

"Take  it;  give  it  to  him.  Oh,  sir,  aid  me  to  escape 
and  I  will  never  forget  you!  I  am  innocent.  It  was 
a  plot  to  ruin  me.  But  never  mind  that.  Give  this 
money  to  the  other  man,  and  help  me,  for  your  daugh- 
ter's sake." 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  gruffly,  "I  can  make  it  seem  as 
if  you  had  worked  your  way  out.  I  will  let  you  go. 
But,  mind  you,  I  wouldn't  touch  a  cent  of  this  money, 
if  it  was  not  to  give  it  to  Bill." 

"I  wish  it  was  a  large  sum,"  Viola  said. 

"Well,  it  isn't  much/'  the  wretch  said,  shaking  his 
head.  "And  Bill  is  such  a  shark!  Perhaps  if  you  had 
any  jewels  of  any  sort?" 

The  only  jewel  of  value  she  had  was  the  ring  Walter 
had  given  her'  when  he  went  away,  and  that  she  could 
not  bear  to  part  with. 

"I — I  have  only  a — a  ring,"  she  stammered,  turning 
the  stone  inward.  "It  is  very  dear  to  me.  Don't  you 
think  he  will  take  the  money  if  you  tell  him  I  will 
send  him  more?" 

"Oh,  you  couldn't  catch  him  that  way,  miss.  He's 
too  sharp  for  that.  He'll  take  all  he  can  now,  and 
not  trust  to  the  future.  Well,  I'll  tell  him  about  it, 
and  will  let  you  knowr  in  a  few  minutes/' 

The  fellow  went  away,  and  returned  in  a  little  while 


Seemingly  Guilty.  17^5 

OTih  a  long  face  to  say  that  Bill  would  not  think  of 
letting  her  go  unless  she  would  give  him  something 
more. 

"If  I  was  you,  miss,  though  I  don't  want  to  suggest 
anything,  I  would  let  him  have  that  ring.  You  see, 
you  can  always  explain  how  you  came  to  let  it  go." 

The  color  completely  faded  out  of  Viola's  cheeks, 
and  the  iron  of  despair  entered  her  soul.  Must  she 
give  up  that  precious  ring?  And  yet  it  must  be  that 
or  the  loss  of  freedom — the  horror  of  prison — worse 
than  death. 

"Give  it  to  him !"  she  cried,  as  if  the  words  were  torn 
from  her  heart. 

The  scoundrel  took  the  ring  and  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket, 

"Count  on  getting  out  of  here  in  something  less  than 
two  hours,"  he  said.  "At  that  time  there  will  be  no- 
body here  excepting  Bill  and  me,  and  you  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  escaping/' 

Viola  would  have  pleaded  to  be  taken  away  at  once, 
font  the  man  gave  her  no  opportunity  to  do  so.  He 
closed  the  door  and  went  up  to  his  companions,  to 
whom  he  showed  the  proceeds  of  his  shameful  trickery. 

"The  ring  is  worth  two  hundred,  anyhow/'  he  said. 

"It  is  worth  two  thousand  at  least/'  Purdy  said 
iooollv.  as  he  held  the  ring  in  his  hand. 


176  See-mingly  Guilty. 

''You  are  crazy,  Sam,"  said  Bolton.    "The  rn^   gj 
worth  a  cent  qyer  two  hundred  and  fifty,  anyhow.", 

/'I'll  bet  yoii  a  cool  hundred  that  I  will  sell  it  for 
two  thousand/3  Purdy  said. 

"Done!"  ejaculated  Bolton. 

"Wait  here  for  me  for  a  "few  minutes,  and  you  shall 
see,"  said  Purdy. 

The  others  stared. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  they  demanded. 

"Take  it  to  our  friend  Beekman.  If  he  understands 
his  business,  he  will  pay  two  thousand  for  the  engage- 
ment ring  of  his  rival." 

"Well,  you  have  a  long  head,  Purdy,"  said  Bolton, 
and  the.orther  wretch  nodded  his  head  admiringly. 

Purdy  went  out  and  presently  returned  with,  How- 
ard, having  told  him  of  the  ring. 

"It  will  enable  you  to.  prove  to  him  that  she  is  faith- 
less— don't  you  see?  It  is  well  worth  all  I  ask  for  it." 

Howard  Beekman  knew  that,  in  buying  that  ring,  he 
was  as  guilty  as  the  men  who  had  tricked  it  from  Viola. 
But  he  readily  saw  how  it  could  be  used  to  separate  the 
lovers,  and  he  did  not  hesitate. 

"I  have  not  the  money,"  he  said.  ."But  I  always 
carry  my  check  book  of  my  private  account.  Will  a 
check  do?" 

"Certainly.  And  you  might  as  well  make  it  for  three 
thousand,  so  as  to  include  everything." 


Seemingly  Guilty.  177 

So  the  check  was  made  out  in  that  way,  and  Howard 
went  away  again";  this  time  bearing  with  him  the  ring 
which  was  the  sign  of  the  betrothal  of  Walter  and 
Viola. 

Meanwhile  the  poor  victim  was  waiting  with  throb- 
bing heart  for  the  man  to  come  to  set  her  free. 

The  time  came  at  last  when  the  man  came  to  her 
with  her  hat  and  coat,  together  with  a  thick  shawl, 
which  he  told  her  to  wrap  arouttd  her  head,  so  as  to 
avoid  recognition. 

And  to  be  sure  that  she  was  sufficiently  enfolded 
in  the  shawl,  he  wound  it  about  her  himself. 

Then,  with  an  appearance  of  great  stealth  and  se- 
crecy, he  led  her  forth  from  the  cell,  and  dragged  her 
swiftly  to  the  back  door,  which  he  opened  and  through 
which  lie  dragged  her  so  quickly  that  she  would  have 
had  no  time  to  look  about,  even  if 'she  had  had  the  in- 
clination. 

But  she  was  too  glad  to  'escape  to  think  of  studying 
her  surroundings.  She  followed  her  leader  across  the 
open  space  into  the  woods: 

On  and  on  he  led  her  until  they  had  reached  the 
road,  where,  with  a  hurried  whisper  to  her  to  keep  right 
on,  he  left  her. 

She  needed  no  urging,  but  sped  along  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  did  not  slacken  her  pace  for  an  hour.  Then 
it  was  the  sound  of  jingling  sleigh  bells  that  made  her 


i/8  Seemingly  Guilty. 

stop  and  look  around,  her  bosom  heaving  fi»wi  her 
exertions. 

A  sleigh  was  flying  toward  her  over  the  smooth  road, 
and  her  first  impulse  was  to  dart  aside  into  the  woods 
to  escape  observation. 

Then  something  familiar  in  the  horse,  next  in  the 
Driver,  claimed  her  attention,  and  with  a  wild  cry  of, 
"Mr.  Beekman!"  she  sank  swooning  in  the  snow. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

DEEP  REGRETS. 

No  one  would  have  known  the  sedate,  cairn  man  at 
the  world  in  the  Howard  Beekman  who  sprang  from 
the.  sleigh  and  caught  up  the  fainting  form  of  Viola 
in  his  arms. 

His  intense,  mad  passion  had  transformed  him. 
He  hugged  her  inanimate  form  to  his  breast  and  rained 
kisses  on  her  cold  cheeks. 

If  Viola  had  but  come  to  consciousness  while  he  was 
so  dishonorably  stealing  the  sweets  of  her  dewy  lips 
she  would  have  known  her  peril  from  him. 

But  her  swoon  continued  until  after  he  had  placed 
her  in  the  sleigh  and  had  urged  his  horses  on  again. 
i      He  had  wrapped  her  up  well  in  the  robes  so  that  she 
could  not  suffer  from  the  cold,  and  his  eyes  were  more 
on  her  than  on  his  flying  animals. 

He  saw  the  color  returning  to  the  pale  cheeks,  and 
watched  eagerly  for  the  first  glance  of  the  lovely  eyes 
when  they  should  open. 

He  would  have  given  all  he  possessed  if  he  could 
have  been  sure  that,  when  the  long  lashes  lifted  from! 
the  round  cheeks,  the  brown  eyes  would  have  in  then* 
a  look  of  love  for  him. 


i8o  .ets.- 

Btit  h'fc  kneW'very  well  -that  they • : would- -not*..  And 
the  thought  made  him  hate  Walter,  as  if  the  latter  were 
the  one  at  fault; 

The  brown  eyes  opened,  and  in  them  was  a  look 
of  terror  that  should  have  won  .him  to  remorse  for  the 
misery  he  was  causing  her. 

A  cry  of  fear  rose  to  her  lips,  but  before  it  could 
escape,  she  recognized  her  companion,  and  cried. out 
Joy  fully : 

"Oh, -Mr.  Beekman!  itjs  you.  Oh,  save  me!  save 
me!"  •  & 

"I  will  save  you;  I  will.    Trust  invme-!M 

He  was  bending  over  her,  with  his  passion  flaming 
in  his  eyes,  when  he  recalled  to  himself  that  he  .must 
put  a  guard  over  his  madness,  and  he  added : 

"From  what  must  I  save  you,  Viola?  Why  did  you 
leave  us?" 

"I  was  stolen  away/'  she  answered,  with  at  shudder 
of  fear.  "I — I  was — arrested.  Oh,  do  riot  turn  from 
me  because  of  that.  But  save  me,  for  I  am  innocent" 

"Arrested!"  he  cried,  with  an  easily  simulated  laugh 
of  incredulity.  "Of  what  did  any  one  accuse  you? 
Of  course  you  are  innocent.  I  will  take  you  home  with 
me  and  no  one  shall  touch  you." 

'"I -dare  not  go  thef'e}"  she  said  despairingly.  "Oh, 
take  me  to  the  railroad  station  and  let  me  go  hide 
myself  in  the  great  city/' 


Deep  Regrets.  i8r 

^No,  n©f  he  said.  "You  shall  .go  to  my  mother.  I 
liave  wealth  and  can  protect  you.  Trust  in  me!1' 

"'You  are  very  kind,  but  you  do  not  understand/'  she 
moaned.  "I  was  accused  of  stealing  a  diamond  ring 
when  I  was  in  the  city.  I  should  have  told  you  at  first, 
but  I  had  not  the  courage.  I  thought  I  would  be  safe 
with  you.  But  they  found  me  and  took  me  to  prison." 

"To  prison !"  he  exclaimed.  '"-'How,'  then,  do  you 
come  to  be  free  now?" 

"1  bribed  -the  jailer  to  set  me  free3  and  he  did  so. 
So  now  I  must  hide  in  some  safe  place  until  my  inno^- 
cence  can  be  proven/' 

"What  safer  place  can  there  be  than  my  house, 
Viola?"  he  asked,  making  a  strenuous  effort  to  hide  his 
passion. 

"It  would  be  known  that  I  was  there,  and  1  should 
be  dragged  back  to  prison.  I  think  I  should  go  mad 
if  I  were  to  be  taken  there  again." 

"Who  would  know  that  you  were  there?"  he  de- 
manded. "Who  would  tell  the  miscreants  ?" 

,  "The  servants  would  tejl. ,  ,  They  would  see  me  go 
into  the  house,  and  would  not  know  that  they  should 
not  tell." 

"But  what'if  I  could  get  you  Into  the  house  unknown 
to  them?  Wotid  not  that  do?"  he  asked. 

MHow  eould  you  do  it?"  she  asked,  so  eagerly  that 


182  Deep  Regrets. 

he  knew  she  would  fall  a  ready  victim  to  his  nefarious 
plot  against  her  happiness. 

"I  could  drive  about  until  it  was  dark,  and  then  could 
easily  smuggle  you  into  the  house.  I  could  give  you 
a  room  in  the  wing  that  is  never  used.  You  could  live 
there  for  months  without  a  suspicion  on  the  part  of 
anybody." 

"It  would  be  such  a  trouble  to  you/'  she  said  faintly. 

"We  care  too  much  for  you  to  think  of  the  trouble/' 
he  answered,  his  eyes  almost  betraying  him. 

"But  your  mother?''  queried  Viola.  "What  will  she 
think  when  she  knows  that  I  am  accused  of  theft,  and 
have  been  arrested?" 

"She  will  think  exactly  as  I  do:  that  you  cannot  be 
guilty  of  so  absurd  a  charge.  How  can  you  doubt 
our  love  for  you,  Viola?" 

She  started  a  little  at  the  fervor  of  his  tone,  and  cast 
an  involuntary  look  into  his  eyes.  He  saw  his  mis- 
take, and  said  hastily: 

"My  mother  loves  you  for  yourself,  and  I  can  never 
be  grateful  enough  for  saving  my  darling  boy." 

His  words  dissipated  any  faint  suspicion  that  might 
have  entered  her  brain,  and  she  thought  no  more  of  the 
matter. 

"If  I  were  sure  she  would  not  care,"  Viola  mur- 
mured, "I  should  be  so  grateful  to  you." 

"I  know  she  will  not  care/'  he  said. 


Deep  Regrets.  183 

"But  it  will  be  terrible  to  go  driving  about  until 
dark/'  she  said,  with  a  last  faint  scruple. 

"If  I  had  not  found  you,  I  should  have  driven  about 
all  day  with  despair  and  grief  in  my  heart,"  he  said. 
"I  came  out  provided  with  everything  to  enable  me 
to  be  gone  all  day.  There  is  a  camping  stove  in  the 
sleigh,  and  I  have  food.  You  will  not  suffer." 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  myself,"  she  said;  "I  was 
thinking  only  of  you." 

"I  am  so  happy  at  having  found  you,"  he  said,  "that 
I  shall  never  think  of  anything  but  that.  You  do  not 
know  how  wretched  we  were  when  we  learned  that 
you  were  gone.  I  was  out  all  last  evening  and  all  to- 
day. I  would  never  have  given  up  until  I  had  found 
you." 

"How  good  you  are  to  me !"  she  murmured  grate- 
fully. 

"It  is  easy  to  be  good  to  you,"  he  said.  "But  tell  me 
how  it  happened  to  you.  Let  me  know  everything,  so 
that  I  may  know  how  to  act." 

So  she  told  him  the  whole  story  just  as  he  already 
knew  it,  and  he  listened  to  her  sweet  voice  without  pay- 
ing much  heed  to  her  words. 

It  was  'plain,  even  to  him,  that  her  love  for  Walter 
occupied  her  whole  soul.  But  with  the  infatuation 
of  one  who  will  see  but  one  side,  he  persuaded  him- 
self that  he  could  wean  her  from  her  love. 


184  Deep  Regrets. 

And.,  now  he  knew  that  he  must  begin  his.  course  of 
deception  toward  her  if  he  would  hope  to  part  her  from 
.Walter.  . 

"You  love  .him  very  much,"  he  said,  when  she  had 
finished. 

"I  love  him.  with  all  my  heart/'  she  answered,  with 
a  vivid  blush  that  made  her  face  look  divinely  beautiful. 

"Have  you  written  to  him  about  your  trouble?"  he 
asked 

"Yes.     I. have  told  him  everything." 

"Then  he  will  be  sure  to  return  home  and  come  here 
to  my  house, to  seek  you, .1  should  think?"  he  said. 

"I,  hope  he  will,",  she  replied,  in  a  low  tone. 
.   She  was,  in  .fact,  living  on  that  hope, 

"Of  course  he  will,"  he  said  slowly.  "He  certainly 
will  if  he  loves  you  as  you  love  him,  and  as  you  de- 
serve to  be  loved.  I  almost  wonder  that  he  ever  con- 
sented to  leave  you.  It  does  not  seem  the  act  of  a 
fervent  lover." 

"Oh!  I  begged  him  to  go,"  she  said,  eager  to  take 
Walter's  part. 

"It  certainly  was  the  wisest  thing  to  do,"  Mr.  Beek- 
man  said  spitefully.  "I  was  only  thinking  that  it  would 
seem  as  if  a  true  lover  would  think  more  of  the  one 
he  loved  than  of  wealth.  Still,  he  was  worldly  wise 
in  thinking  of  his  father's  wealth/*, 

Viola  smilecTserenely. 


Deep  Regrets.  185 

He  neither  thought  of ;  it,  nor  cited  for  it,"  she 
"li  I  had  been  willing,  he  would  have  defied 
his  father.  But  my  mother  would  not  give  her  consent^ 
and  not  for  the  world  would  I  have  come  between  a 
father  and  his  only  son.  I  loved -'him  too  well  to  cause 
tern  any  pain.  We  cotild  wait,  however  hard  it  might 
be  to  do  so:" 

Howard  Beekinan  bit  his  lip  to  restrain  his  anger  at 
her  confidence  in  her  lover. 

It  maddened  him  to  think  that  no  insinuation  of  his 
could  shake  her  trust. 

"But  I  :  will  bring  her  such  proofs  of  her  lover's 
perfidy  and  falseness,"  lie  thought  to  himself,  "that  she 
will  be  obliged  to  distrust  him.  Then  she  shall  be 
mine." 


fe' 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SMALL,     BEADY     EYES. 

Viola  was  cold  and  miserable  in  body  when  at  last 
it  was  dark  enough  for  her  to  be  taken  to  the  house, 
so  that  she  could  be  smuggled  in  without  being  ob- 
served by  any  of  the  servants. 

Mr.  Beekman  had  her  get  out  of  the  sleigh  in  the 
road  near  the  spot  where  she  had  met  her  abductors, 
and  from  there  she  made  her  way  to  a  place  near  the 
house,  and  waited  until  he  should  summon  her  to  enter. 

He  drove  up  to  the  house  and  had  the  sleigh  taken 
to  the  stable  at  once. 

Then  he  ran  into  the  house,  and  was  met  by  his 
mother  in  the  hall. 

"What  news,  Howard?"  she  cried;  then  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  face  by  the  hall  ?amp,  and  added  eagerly: 
"Good  news,  I  know.  Have  you  found  her?'1 

"Hush,  mother!"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  as  he  looked 
cautiously  about  to  see  that  no  one  was  listening.  "I 
have  found  her  and  brought  her  home.  It  is  a  strange, 
pitiful  story.  She  is  the  victim  of  a  terrible  persecu- 
tion, and  must  be  hidden  for  a  while.  I  know  you  will 
be  her  friend." 

"Of  course  I  will,  Howard.    Where  is  she?5' 


Small,  Beady  Eyes.  187 

"She  is  waiting  out  of  doors  until  I  can  arrange  to 
get  her  into  the  house  unobserved.  I  thought  of  get- 
ting her  into  the  unused  wing,  where  she  could  be  hid- 
den, and  could  be  made  comfortable  for  a  long  time." 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?"  she  asked. 

"Be  sure  that  the  servants  are  all  downstairs  while  I 
call  Viola  in." 

"They  are  downstairs  now  without  exception/'  she 
said.  "I  will  go  down  and  contrive  to  keep  them  there 
m  case  any  of  them  should  seek  to  come  up.  You 
hasten  and  get  the  poor  child  in  out  of  the  cold.  By 
the  way,  why  not  take  her  to  my  room  until  we  can 
make  one  of  the  other  rooms  comfortable?  I  will  give 
Mary  permission  to  go  out  this  evening.  No  one  else 
will  go  to  my  room." 

So  it  was  arranged.  Before  many  minutes  had 
passed,  Viola  was  in  the  cheery  room  of  good  Mrs. 
Beekman.  And,  soon  afterward,  she  was  sobbing  in 
very  contentment  on  the  ample  bosom  of  the  dear  old 
lady. 

In  the  meantime,  Howard  Beekman  was  uneasily 
pacing  the  floor  of  the  sitting  room,  waiting  for  the 
coming  of  his  mother. 

He  knew  he  must  have  her  for  an  ally,  and  yet  he 
knew  that  she  would  never  be  a  party  to  the  wickedness 
he  contemplated. 

"I  must  deceive  her,"  he  said  to  himself,     "I  must 


i  1 88  Small,1.,  Be^dy  Eyes. 

coarcoct  a  story  which  will  tally  with  anything'  Viola 
may  say,  and  which  yet  will  dispose'mothef  to  take  my 
part  against  Walter  Hardman." 

He  could  not  recall  the  time  when  he  had  lied  to  his 
mother.  It  was  with  an  inward  shudder  of  shame  that 
he  contemplated  doing  it  now. 

It  startled  him  to  think  how  easy  he  found  it  to 
concoct  a  falsehood  now.  He  at  last  hit  upon  the  right 
story  to  tell. 

He  was  ready  now  for  his  mother  to  come.  He 
would  tell  her  such  a  story  as  would  make  her  strive 
hard  to  turn  Viola  against  Walter. 

He  had  heard  the  rustle  of  her  gown  on  the  stairs. 

"Poor  little  "Viola!"  said  Mrs.  Beekman,  as  she  en- 
tered the  room. 

"How  is  she  feeling?"  he  asked. 

"Quite  well  now;  and  so  sweetly  grateful  to  us!" 

"Did  she  tell  you  her  story?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"Only  a  part  of  it.  .  She  said  she  had  told  you  every- 
.  thing,  and  that  you  would  tell  me." 

"Yes,"  he  said,. 1M  will  tell  you  her  story,  and  then  I 
will  tell  you  what  she  does  not  know,  and  what  I  hope 
she  need  never  know.  You  know  she  was  a  salesgirl  in 
Hardman  &  Son's?"  : 

"Yes." 

"Well,  her  story  is  that  Walter  Hardman   fell  in 


Small,  Beftdy ;  Eyes,  i  3<) 

love  with  her, . and  she  with , him,  and  that  tiny  w  H ud 
have  been  married  but. for  the  opposition  of  the  lat- 
ter's  father.  .  She  says  that  Walter  was  sent  to  Kurope, 
to  be  gone  for  a  year,  with  the  understanding  that,  if 
he  still  loved  her  .on  his  return,  he,  should  wed  her. 
She  was  promoted  in  the  store,  so  that  she  was  receiv- 
ing a  better  salary,  and  everything  was  going  nicely, 
when  she  was  accused  of  the  theft  of  a  diamond  ring 
by  Eunice  Carroll,  who  is  the  woman  selected  by  Mr. 
Hardman  as  a  suitable  wife  for  his  so ti/* 

"It  looks. as  if  there  were  some  vile  plot  to  ruin  the 
poor  girl,  in  the  absence  of  her  lover,  so  as  to, break 
off  the  engagement/'  said  Mrs.  Beekman,  her  keen  in- 
tuition leaping  at  once  to  the  truth, 

"That  is  precisely  what  it  did  seem  like,"  he  said. 
"And  when  I  first  knew  the  circumstances  I  felt  like 
sending  a  cable  message  to  Paris  to  Walter  Hardman, 
For,  though  I  loved  her, ;  mother, I  felt  that  it  was 
my  duty  to  her  to  do  what  would  make  her  happiest/' 

"That  was  like  you,  my  rfoble  boy  !M  Mrs.  Beekman 
said  proudly,  "Why  did  you  not  do  it?" 

He  winced  at  her  undeserved  praise  of  him. 

"I  would  have  done  it,  but  ah  interview  with  Mrs. 
Redmond,  who  is  a.  lovely  woman,,  and  just  what  yotl 
would  suppose  Viola's  mother  to  be— an  interview  with 
her  induced  me  to  go  to  the  detective  who  had  arrested 
Yiola  for  the,  theft" 


Small,  Beady  Eyes. 

"Arrested!  Poor  child!"  interrupted  Mrs.  Beck- 
man. 

"He  told  me  everything  as  soon  as  he  learned  what 
my  relation  to  Viola  was ;  he  told  me  he  had  connived 
at  her  escape  on  the  way  to  the  prison  because  it  had 
been  so  clear  to  him  that  she  was  innocent/' 

"Who  could  doubt  it?"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Beekman. 

"He  told  me,  too,"  Howard  went  on,  turning  away 
so  that  his  mother  could  not  by  any  possibility  read  his 
deceit  in  his  face,  "that  he  had  carefully  investigated 
the  affair,  and  that  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind 
that  the  whole  affair  was  a  terrible  plot  to  ruin  Viola 
and  make  it  impossible  for  her  to  hope  to  be  Walter's 
wife." 

"Scoundrels!"  cried  Mrs.  Beekman. 

"And  the  worst  of  it  was,"  Howard  went  on  im- 
placably, for  there  was  no  retreat  for  him,  "that  Walter 
was  a  party  to  the  infamy." 

"Incredible !"  murmured  his  mother,  in  a  tone  of 
horror. 

"So  I  said,"  her  son  went  on.  "But  t*he  detective 
told  me  such  things  that  I  could  no  longer  doubt." 

"He  is  unfit  to  live,"  cried  the  indignant  old  lady. 
"Any  one  who  would  plot  against  the  happiness  of  that 
girl  deserves  the  worst  punishment  that  can  be  in- 
flicted." 

'The  worst  that  can  happen  to  him,"  he  said,  in  ai  i 


Small,   Beady  Eyes.  191 

hollow  voice,  "is  that  he  should  lose  even  the  chance 
of  making  her  his  wife." 

"Never,  never  must  he  wed  that  lovely  creature, 
Howard,"  his  mother  said.  "I  was  regretting  that 
she  was  lost  to  you.  But  now  I  feel  that  she  must  not 
be  lost  to  you.  We  must  save  her  from  that  scoun- 
drel." 

"You  will  help  me  then  to  win  her?"  he  said  eagerly. 

"I  will,  indeed,  both  for  your  sake  and  for  hers?" 
was  the  ready  response. 

"But  what  shall  we  do?"  he  asked.  "I  would  not 
have  the  courage  to  go  to  her  with  such  a  story." 

"Of  course  not.  She  is  far  too  loyal  a  Httle  soul  to 
believe  you.  There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,  painful  as  it 
will  be,  and  that  is  to  bring  his  perfidy  home  to  her  in 
such  a  way  that  she  cannot  doubt.  It  will  be  a  terrible 
blow  to  her,  but  it  is  better  that  she  should  suffer  a 
little  to  escape  a  worse  blow." 

"I  will  work  in  harmony  with  the  detective,  then," 
he  said  eagerly.  "And  when  something  occurs  which 
will  make  it  impossible  for  her  to  doubt,  you  will  pre- 
sent it  to  her.  If  I  were  to  do  it,  she  might  not  turn 
to  me  afterward.  I  would  like  her  to  have  only  pleas- 
ant thoughts  connected  with  me." 

"I  understand,  Howard.  It  shall  be  my  task  to  open 
her  eyes  to  the  truth." 

He  had  gained  his  point,  and  was  filled  with  tri- 


:  92  Small,  Beady  Eyes. 

umpl'v  despite  the  sense"of  shame  at  his  own  double 
dealing. 

Perhaps  had  he  looked  out  of  the  window  at  that 
moment  there  would  have  been  still  another  sensation 
mingled  with  his  triumph ;  for  glaring  in  on  the  mother 
and  son  was  a  pair  of  small,  beady  eyes,  set  in  a  gaunt, 
sallow  face. 

'The  fool !"  muttered  Peter  Harriem,  as  he  turned 
away  with  an  evil  grimace.  "He  thinks  tie  plots  for 
himself,  but  he  is  only  my  tool!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"WHY     PERMIT     IT?" 

What,  meanwhile,  was  Walter  doing?  Did  ,he;  in- 
deed,-think  so  little  of  his  love  that  he  felt  no  qualms 
about  leaving  her  alone  and  unprotected? 

In-  truth- it  had  not  occurred  to  him  to  fear  anything 
definite  for  her,  but  he  was  too  much  in  love  not  .to 
feel  on  leaving  her  as  if  his  heart  had  been  torn  from 
iis  breast. 

On  the  way  over  on  the  steamer  he  was  tortured 
by  all  sorts  of -vague  fears  of  what  might  happen  to 
lim  or  to  Viola  during  the  long  year  that  was  to  in- 
:ervene.  .  • 

But  when  he  reached  Paris,  he  plunged  into  his  work  - 
as  if  determined  to  keep  his  mind  so  occupied,  that 
here  would  be  no  room  for  repining. 

Then  came  Viola's  first  letters,  in  which  she  told  him 
enthusiastically  of  her  promotion. 

"Father  is  very  good,  after  all,"  Walter  murmured. 
'I  can  see  that  he  intends  to  take  care  of  her." 

He  soon  discovered  that  there  was  really  little  work 
or  him  to  do  in  the  Paris  agency,  and  he  also  discov- 
ered that  he  was  gifted -with  no  little  business  ability. 

This  led  him  to  insist  upon  making  a  thorough  ac* 


"Why  Permit  lt?5y 

quaintance  with  every  detail  of  the  business  ;  . 

in  his  starting  on  a  tour  of  the  several  agencies   in 

other  parts  of  Europe. 

He  had  left  orders  that  his  letters  should  be  for- 
warded to  him ;  but,  owing  to  some  mistake,  they  were 
kept  at  the  Paris  office. 

This  fact  hastened  his  return,  and  he  reached  Paris 
again  in  about  two  weeks,  to  find  four  letters  in  the 
precious  handwriting  which  he  had  learned  to  know. 

He  arranged  the  letters  in  the  order  of  their  arrival, 
as  shown  by  the  postmark,  and  sat  down  in  his  cozy 
parlor  to  enjoy  the  feast  which  he  anticipated. 

One  by  one  the  letters  were  read  and  let  fall,  the 
first  look  of  horror  growing  into  an  expression  of 
fierce,  furious  determination. 

He  muttered  angry  words  as  he  read,  but  he  hardly 
stirred  from  his  seat  until  every  word  was  read  and 
reread. 

"It  is  a  plot  of  that  wretch  Harriem,"  he  murmured 
at  last.  "I  can  see  it.  And  it  would  seem  as  if  Eunice 
must  be  a  party  to  it.  Can  it  be  that  father  has  had 
a  hand  in  it?  Oh,  I  must  not  believe  that.  It  would 
be  too  infamous  for  belief." 

He  leaped  up  and  paced  the  floor. 

Fierce  and  wrathful  as  he  was,  he  yet  had  the  good 
'sense  to  hold  his  anger  in  check  while  he  studied  the 
situation. 


"Why  Permit  It?"  195 

"Heaven   bless   those   good   people   who   have   be- 

t 

friended  her!"  he  murmured/  "I  will  take  the  first 
steamer  home.  But,  lest  my  father  may  have  had  a 
hand  in  the  affair,  I  will  pretend  to  the  agent  that  I  am 
going  back  on  my  tour  of  the  other  agencies  so  that  he 
will  not  notify  father  that  I  am  on  my  way  home." 

"I  wrill  see  Viola.  I  will  cheer  her  up,  and  will  per- 
suade her  to  marry  me.  Then  let  father  do  what  he 
will.  If  he  wishes  to  turn  me  adrift  to  earn  my  own 
living,  I  know  now  that  I  can  do  it." 

He  carried  out  his  plan  exactly  as  he  had  laid  out, 
and  within  three  days  was  on  his  way  to  the  United 
States. 

He  hesitated  for  a  while  as  to  whether  he  should 
go  to  see  Mrs.  Redmond  before  going  up  to  Viola. 
He  decided  to  see  Viola  first. 

When  the  steamer  drew  up  to  the  pier,  he  was  one 
of  the  first  to  step  on  the  gangplank  and  hasten  ashore. 

He  had  not  taken  passage  under  his  own  name,  and 
he  now  drew  his  coat  collar  up  as  if  he  felt  the  cold, 
and  pulled  his  soft  hat  down  so  as  to  be  unrecognizable 
to  any  acquaintance  chancing  to  be  there. 

He  never  thought  of  glancing  around  on  the  sea  of 
faces  upturned  toward  the  steamer  to  watch  the  pas- 
sengers come  down,  and  probably  it  would  not  have 
mattered  if  he  had. 

But  in  truth  there  was  a  young  man  in  the  crowd 


196  "Why  Permit  It  ?" 

who  was  a  clerk  in  the  stare  of  Hardrnan  &  Son;  and 
:  who  knew  Walter  well  by -sight. 

He  eyed*  Walter  eagerly  and  gave  a  start  of  joy  at 
recognizing  him.       • 

-:       He  stole  quietly  behind  him  until  he  saw  him  take 
a  taxicab  and  give  the  direction: 
"Grand  Central  Depot;" 

Then  the  young  man^  darted  away  and  did  not  cease 
;.  running  until  he  had  climbed  the  stairs  of  the  Sixth 

Avenue  elevated  "station  nearest  the  pief . 
I       In  less  than  half  an  hour  he  stood  before  the  desk 
'of  Peter  Harriem,-out  af  breath;  but  with  his  face 
filled  with  triumph. 

"Well?"  queried  Peter,- with  an  eagerness  he  could 
,|iot  conceal, 

"Mr.  Waiter  landed  half  an  hour:  ago." 
!r     The   beady   eyes   twinkled.      The   cold   voice  mur- 
!  mured : 

"Where  did  he  go?" 

"He  took  a  t'axicab  to  the  Grand  Gehtraf  Depot/" 
"That  will  do.     Y6u  have  earned  your  promotion. 
j  I  will  go  see  Mr.  Hardman,  and  tell  him  how  well  you 
have  done.    He  will  ha ve'"a  good  joke  on  Mr.  Walter." 
The  young  man  went  away  with  a  smile,  muttering: 
"All  very  well;  sneaking  Peter!  you  don't  fool  me 
[tike  that.     But  it's  none  of  my  business  as  long  as  I 
^et  my  promotion." 


"Why  Permit  It?"  197 

Walter ?  meanwhile, 4iad  reached  the  .station,  arid  had 
learned  that  he  would  have  to  wait  an  hour  before  fie 
could  get  a  train  that  would  take  him  to  the  station  "ior, 
the'  Beekman  place. 

Peter  glided  out  of  the  store  and  for  once  was 
forced  to  take  *a  taxicab. 

He  was  in  a  great  hurry  to  reach  the  house  o| 
Eunice  Carroll,  and  trembled  with  anxiety  lest  she 
should  not  be  in  when  he  reached  the  house. 

He  paid  the  chauffeur  his  charge,  though  he  made  at 
wry  face  over  doing  it,  and  then  rang  the  bell. 

"Tell  Miss  Carroll,"  he  said,  "that  Mr.  Peter  -Har-i 
rieni  wishes  to  see  her  on  very  important  business." 

The  man  remembered  the  sallow,  mean  face  of  the 
visitor,  and  recalled  that  his  mistress  had  already  seen 
him  before,  so  he  ushered  Peter  into  the  reception  roorjqf 
and  went  away. 

Eunice  was  down  with  him  in  so  short  a  time  as  to 
convey  to  him  the  fact  that  she  had  been  waiting  anx- 
ipusly  for  some  nev/s. 

"What  has  happened?"  she  demanded  breathlessly,  ; 

"Walter  is  home,  and  is  on  his  way  to  see  Viola." 

"Why  dp  you  permit  it?"  she  demanded  furiously*  j 
"I  trusted  to  you  to  prevent  any  such  thing  happen- 
ing." 

"I  am  doing  this  in  my  own  way,"  Peter  said,  with 
,an  ominous  glitter  in  his  little  eyes.  "Please  go  >U 


1 93  "Why  Permit  It?" 

once  and  write  a  letter  to  Howard  Beekman,  telling 
him  that  Walter  will  be  at  his  house  immediately  after 
the  receipt  by  him  of  the  letter/' 

"Will  you  be  sure  to  get  it  to  him  on  time?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"I  am  going  to  take  it  myself/'  he  answered. 

"Supposing  Walter  should  see  you?  Everything* 
would  then  be  spoiled." 

"Walter  will  not  see  me/'  he  said,  in  a  low  tone. 
"Do  not  waste  time/' 

Eunice  went  into  another  room  and  wrote  a  hasty 
note,  telling  Howard  what  Peter  had  told  her  to.  She 
returned  with  it  to  Peter,  and  gave  it  to  him. 

He  placed  it  in  his  pocket,  after  swiftly  glancing 
over  it,  and  glided  away,  saying: 

"He  could  not  catch  a  train  that  will  take  him  there 
before  me." 

And  when  he  was  outside  of  the  house  he  said,  as 
he  darted  swiftly  up  the  street: 

"Soon  I  shall  have  Walter  and  Howard  at  each 
other's  throats.  Then  I  shall  step  in  and  carry  off 
the  prize." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
"STRIKE    HIM    DOWN/' 

It  was  an  incredible  joy  to  the  sly,  subtle  nature  of 
Peter  Harriem  that  he  was  able  to  carry  out  his  plot  in 
the  involved,  secret  manner  in  which  he  did. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  not  fail  of  his  purpose 
as  long  as  he  controlled  his  puppets. 

He  rubbed  his  hands  with  an  infinite  relish  as  he 
walked  away  from  the  house  of  Eunice  Carroll. 

His  hurry  was  over  now.  He  had  only  been  afraid 
he  would  not  find  her  at  home,  and  would  have  to  seek 
for  her  elsewhere.  It  was  another  reason  for  his  secret 
satisfaction  that  he  had  known  at  once  that  Walter 
would  not  be  able  to  catch  a  train  right  away  to  take 
him  up  the  river. 

He  had  been  up  there  so  often  that  he  had  learned 
the  trains  by  heart,  and  had  known  the  instant  the 
young  man  had  told  him  of  Walter's  action,  that  he 
would  have  to  cool  his  impatience  in  the  station. 

"How  they  all  have  to  do  just  what  the  despised 
Peter  tells  them/'  he  muttered.  "Even  Walter,  who 
comes  from  Europe  and  thinks  to  have  his  own  will 
of  things,  has  to  be  my  creature.  Aha !  he  little  thinks 
I  shall  be  on  the  same  train  with  him,  with  my  web 


2OO  "Strike  Him  Down/7 

.woven  to  catch  the  girl  he  loves,  but  who  must  be 
mine  " 

He  glided  stealthily  into  the  station  and  peered 
around  it  until  his  keen  eyes  fell  upon  Walter,  pacing 
uneasily  up  and  down  at  one  end. 

""He  can't  wait  until  he  sees  her/'  he  murmured. 
"Well,"  he  will  have  to  learn  patience.  I  wonder  why 
I  hate  him  so.  I  always  did  hate  him.  I  think  it  is 
because  he  has  always  had  what  I  never  did  have. 
'Curse  him  for  his  good  looks  and  his  insolence!  He 
ialways  despised  me,  but  in  the  end  I  shall  triumph." 

He  sneaked  stealthily  up  to  the  office  and  bought  his 
ticket,  always  keeping  his  eye  on  Walter,  to  be  sure 
that  he  was  not  recognized. 

When  the  gates  were  opened  to  let  the  passengers 
(through  into  the  cars,  he  waited  until  Walter  had 
passed  through  and  then  followed  him. 

He  could  not  help  noticing  the  assured,  strong  step 
of  the  young  man  whom  he  hated,  and  whose  affianced 
wife  he  was  trying  to  steal,  but  he  did  not  lay  it  to  the 
right  cause. 

."He  is  so  sure  of  getting  her/'  he  said  to  himself, 
.with  a  sneer  of  hate  and  malice.  "He  walks  as  if  he 
owned,  the  whole  earth." 

He  could  not  know  how  Waiter  had  changed  in  the 
short  -time  of  his  absence,  for  he  had  never  understood 


-"Strike  Him  "Down."  201 

the  qualities  that  lay  dormant  in  him,  wanting  but,  lit- 
tle to  bring  them  forth. 

He  took  the  car  behind  Walter,  arid  during  the  ride 
ap  the  river  kept  watching  him  with  a  growing  hate.. 

When  the  cars  stopped  at  the  station  he  was  waiting 
on  the  step,  and  was  away  in  the  darkening  day  before 
.Walter  was  off  the  car. 

He  knew  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  follow  Walter 
now. 

(  Viola  was  the  loadstone  that  attracted  them  both, 
and  Walter  would  now  follow  him. 
••"  Peter  had  gone  over  the  road  so  many  times  that  it 
was  very  familiar  to  him,  and  yet  he  paused  once  in, 
his  rapid,  gliding  run  and  looked  about  him. 
1  It  was  a  spot  where  the  road  ran  by  the  side  of  a 
precipice,  down  the  side  of  which  grew  a  mass  of  tan- 
gled brush,  and  at  the  bottom  of  which  was  a  dark- 
some pool. 

:  Peter  could  see  nothing  of  this  now;  for  it  was  al- 
ready too  dark  for  that;  •  but  he  knew  how  it  was,  arid 
as  he  paused  there  he  muttered : 

"I  could  wait  here;  I  could  leap  upon  him  from  be- 
hind and  strike  him  down.  Then  I  could  throw  him 
over  there,  and  no  one  would  ever  know.  Curse  him! 
-how  I  would  like  te  do  it.  .But  no,  he  can  serve  me 
best  aHve,  ndw.M 

It  was  a  friutxierer's  thought  and  impulse,  and 


2O2  "Strike  Him  Down." 

picture  of  the  handsome  young  man  lying  dead  haunted 
him.  He  gloated  over  the  mere  idea  of  it. 

He  accelerated  his  pace  and  ran  on  until  he  reached 
the  house  of  Howard  Beekman. 

It  was  lighted  up  in  its  usual  cheery  fashion,  and 
Peter  had  much  ado  to  steal  up  to  the  front  door  and 
reach  the  bell  without  exposing  himself  to  the  flood 
of  light  that  streamed  from  the  windows. 

Not  that  it  would  have  mattered  at  all  if  he  had 
exposed  himself,  but  he  loved  stealth  and  secrecy  for 
its  own  sake. 

He  kept  as  much  as  possible  in  the  shadow  when  he 
heard  the  step  of  the  servant  in  the  hall,  and  when 
she  opened  the  door  he  said : 

"Tell  Mr.  Beekman  there  is  a  man  to  see  him  on  im- 
portant business.  I  won't  come  in/' 

He  reached  out  and  pulled  the  door  shut  in  her  face, 
much  to  her  alarm  and  amazement,  but  his  action  had 
the  desired  effect.  She  ran  quickly  to  her  master,  and 
said: 

"There  is  a  strange  man  at  the  door  to  see  you,  sir. 
He  wouldn't  come  in.  He  said  important  business." 

Howard  Beekman  lived  a  life  of  inward  but  intense 
excitement  in  those  days.  He  fancied  all  sorts  of 
things,  and  waited  for  something  to  happen  which 
would  guide  him  to  his  right  course. 

He  started  tip  at  the  girl's  words,  and  ran  to  the 


"Strike  Him  Down/'  203 

door,  which  he  snatched  open  impetuously.  He  peered 
out,  and  saw  the  dimly  outlined  figure  of  a  man  in  the 
vestibule. 

"Who  are  you — what  do  you  want?"  he  demanded. 

"A  letter  from  Miss  Carroll,"  said  Peter.  "Read 
it  quickly.  There  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Howard  snatched  the  letter  from  the  long  fingers, 
and  forgot  the  man  in  his  interest  in  the  letter. 

"Come  in!"  he  said  mechanically,  as  he  retreated 
toward  the  hall  lamp. 

"No.  Be  quick.  The  man  mentioned  in  the  letter  is 
on  his  way  here  now,"  said  Peter,  pulling  the  door  shut, 
and  gliding  out  to  the  porch,  that  he  might  watch  for 
the  coming  of  Walter. 

"He  is  sure  to  be  late,"  he  muttered.  "He  would 
not  come  without  asking  directions,  and  that  would 
take  time." 

The  door  of  the  house  opened,  and  Howard  stepped 
out,  saying  huskily: 

"The  letter  says  you  are  to  be  trusted." 

"I  am,"  said  Peter,  sinking  lower  into  his  upturned 
coat  collar. 

"You  know  everything?"  asked  Howard. 
"Everything.     Walter  Hardman  is  not  five  minutes 
away  from  here." 

"She — she  advises  nothing,"  said  Howard,  his  owa 


2O4  ""Strike  Him  Down/5 

wits  hard  at  work  to  no  purpose  in  the  face  of  the  peril 
menacing  him. 

"She  told  me  to  tell  you  that  you  must  make  hirri 
think  the  young  lady  has  gone." 

"That  part  is  plain.  I  had  determined  on  that. 
What  else?" 

"Then  you  must  go  tcj  her  mother  and  persuade  her 
not  to  reveal  the  truth." 

"I  have  already  persuaded  her :  of  that.  She  is  my 
ally." 

"Ah,  is  it  so?     Then  go  to  her,  and  if  you  can  get 

her  to  give  Walter  back  his  engagement  ring,  telling 

* . 

him  that  the  girl- wishes  to  break  the  engagement,  you 
will  be  all  right.7' 

'   -"What  do  you  know  of  the  ring?"  demanded  How- 
ard, startled. 

"Miss  Carroll  knows  everything  that  happened. 
Will  you  do  what  I  say?" 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  Howard ^  with  sudden 
suspicion. 

"What  does  it  matter?    I  am  bound. to  do  Miss  Car- 
roll a  service.     She  told  me  the  .facts  ^nd  asked  my 
advice.     I  told  her  what  I  have  told  you." 
"But  why  should  -she- 
Peter  laid  his  hand  on  the  other's  arm  and  hushed 
him. 

"Hark'  h<    v    Dining.    -I  must  get  out  of  the  way. 


"Strike  Him  Down/'  205 

I  have  given  you  all  the  advice  I  have  to  give,  You 
must  use  your  own  judgment  about  taking  it.  You  will 
•have  to  play  your  part  well.  Good  night!" 

He  .escaped  down  the  steps,  and  glided  away  into 
the  shrubbery,  where  he^crouched.  Howard  went  in, 
.after  *a  moment  of  hesitation,, '  and  softly  closed  the 
door. 

H$  stood  for  a  ,rnoment  in  the  hall  in  indecision. 
What  should  he  do  before  meeting  Walter!  What  sort 
of  man  would  he  turn  out  to  be?  Who  was  the  mes- 
senger? ,  .  .; 

I  Then  he  darted  up  the  stairs  and  went  into  his 
mother's  little  parlor,  where  the  old  lady  spent  a  great 
deal!  of  her  time,  because  later  in  the  evening^  Viola 
would  come  down  and  sit  with  her. 

"Mother,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I  must  have  a  few 
words  with  you." 

.'  Something  has  hagpe^d,"  she  said  quickly.  "Tell1 
me  what  it  -is;:" 

' 4 Walter  '  Hac&man  has  come  home." 
:     "Ah,  he  will  see  Viola,  then,"  she  said  at  once. 

"He  is  on  his  way  here  now.  I  have  received  word 
.from  my  detective  that  he  is  coming.  He  will  be  here 
any  minute.  There  is  ^  his  ring  now.  What  shall 
,we  do?" 

"He  must  not  see  Viola,"  Mrs.  Beekman  said,  with 


206  "Strike  Him  Down." 

decision.  "The  girl  would  believe  in  him,  and  go  with 
him." 

"That  is  so/7  said  Howard  eagerly.  "But  what  can 
we  do?  I  feel  that  he  wrould  not  believe  me  if  I  were 
to  tell  him  she  was  not  here/' 

"He  might  not  believe  you/'  she  said.  "He  is  sure 
to  believe  me.'' 

"You,  mother!  would  you  tell  him  a  falsehood?''  he 
demanded  joyously. 

He  had  hoped  for  it,  but  had  not  believed  that  any- 
thing would  persuade  his  mother  to  say  what  was  not 
true. 

She  turned  to  him  and  placed  her  hand  upon  his 
arm ;  her  sweet  face  was  troubled  but  firm. 

"Howard/'  she  said,  "I  must  save  Viola  at  any  cost. 
If  he  discovers  that  she  is  here,  he  will  find  means  to 
see  her.  He  has  not  returned  from  Europe  to  see  her 
unless  he  is  terribly  infatuated.  I  will  mislead  him. 
Leave  it  to  me." 

"But  I  should  be  present  at  the  interview/'  he  said. 

He  did  not  dare  to  remain  away,  although  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  escape  meeting  Walter. 

"Yes,"-  she  replied,  "you  should  be  present.  We 
will  greet  him  courteously  and  give  him  a  welcome  as  it 
we  did  not  suspect  him  in  any  way.  We  will  even 
urge  him  to  remain  overnight.  It  will  be  easy  to  keeg 


"Strike  Him  Down."  207 

Viola  in  the  wing.  She  will  never  know  that  he  has 
been  here,  and  he  will  have  any  possible  suspicion  set 
at  rest/' 

"What  would  I  do  without  you,  mother?     Here 
•comes  Mary  to  tell  us  he  is  here  P 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

GOOD    INTENTIONS. 

Walter  walked  into  the  sitting  room  of  the  Beekman 
house,  his  whole  being  vibrating  with  hope. 

He  had  asked  for  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Beekman  rather  than 
for  Viola,  because  he  r&d  wished  to  be  courteous.  He 
knew  she  was  a  sort  of  companion  to  Mrs.  Beekman, 
and  he  thought  it  would  be  better  to  ask  to  see  either 
the  old  lady  or  her  son/ 

He  could  not  sit  down  rest  fully,  for  his  eagerness 
to  see  his  darling  was  too  great  to  permit  of  repose  of 
manner. 

All  the  way  to  the  house  he  had  dwelt  on  her  image, 
and  had  reveled  in  the  thought  of  how  he  w;6uld  sweep 
away  every  scruple  she  had  against  a  hasty  and  secret 
marriage. 

He  thought  how  yielding  he  had  been  before  going 
away,  and  smiled  happily  as  he  realized  how  he  had 
changed. 

"Perhaps,"  he  murmured,  "she  did  hot  think  me 
manly  enough.  She  may  have  feared  to  trtist  herself  to 
me,  in  spite  of  her  great  love.  For  I  know  she  did 
love  me." 

He  paused  in  front  of  the  blazing  fire  on  the -hearth 


Good  Intentions*  209 

and  listened  eagerly  for  some  sound  to  indicate  the 
coming  of  some  one. 

"How  good  these  kind  friends  have  been  to  her!"  he 
murmured.  "I  must  think  of  some  way  of  pr-oving  my 
gratitude.  I  hear  the  rustle  of  a  dress/' 

He  stopped  and  turned  toward  the  door,  his  hand- 
some face  lighted  up  by  a  smile  of  expectation.  Mrs. 
Beekmari  entered  the  room. 

Walter  had  no  doubt  it  was  she  the  moment  his  eyes 
fell  upon  her,  for  Viola  had  described  her  to  him  in 
more  than  one  letter. 

"I  know  this  is  Mrs.  Beekman/'  he  said,  stepping 
forward  quickly  and  putting  out  his  hand.  "My  name 
is  Walter  Hardman.  Viola  has  told  you  of  me,  I 
know." 

..    Mrs.    Beekmari    took    the    outstretched    hand    and 
pressed  it  cordially, 

.  She  studied  the  handsome  face  earnestly.     She  told 
herself  instantly  that  no  scoundrel  ever  had  eyes  like  his. 

She  felt  in  her  heart  that  he  was  worthy  of  Viola; 
and  yet  there  was  the  direct  evidence  given  her  son 
that  Walter  was  base  and  unworthy. 

"Yes/'  she;  said,  "Viola  has  spoken  of  you  many 
times.  I  did  not  know  you  were  home.  Have  you 
seen  Viola?"  v  .  - 

"No/'  he  replied,  with  a  bright,  eager  smile.  "I  have 
net  met  her  yet.  I  asked  for  you-  first/' 


21(3  Good  Intentions. 

Howard  Beekman  entered  the  room  at  this  point, 
r.nd  Mrs.  Beekman  turned  and  introduced  him  to  Wal- 
ter. 

"You  have  heard  Viola  speak  of  Mr.  Hardman,  I 
am  sure,  Howard/'  she  said. 

"Why,  no,  mother,"  he  said,  "I  must  confess  that  I 
never  have.  But  if  Mr.  Hardman  is  a  friend  of  hers 
he  is  very  welcome  here.  Miss  Redmond  saved  my 
little  boy  from  a  horrible  death,  Mr.  Hardman.  Have 
you  seen  her  lately,  by  the  way?" 

Walter  turned  from  Howard  to  his  mother,  a 
strange,  perplexed  expression  creeping  into  his  eyes. 

"Seen  her  lately!"  he  repeated.  "I  have  just  re- 
turned from  Europe,  and  came  here  at  once.  I  am  im- 
patient to  see  her.  She — -is  to  be  my  wife,  you  know/' 

"Your  wife!"  exclaimed  Howard,  looking  at  his 
mother  with  pretended  amazement.  "Did  she  ever  tell 
you  so,  mother?"  he  asked. 

Walter  stared  with  growing  anxiety.  A  vague  fear 
was  forming  in  his  heart,  though  he  could  not  give  it 
expression. 

Mrs.  Beekman  shook  her  head  at  the  question.  It 
happened  that  she  could  truthfully  answer: 

"No,  she  never  spoke  of  such  a  thing  while  she  was 
here.  But  it  does  not  matter,"  she  added,  with  a  pleas- 
ant smile.  "If  you  and  she  !  married,  I  can 


Good  Intentions.  211 

most  heartily  congratulate  you,  for  a  sweeter  girl  I 
never  met.  I  hope  you  hear  good  news  of  her?1' 

"Good  news  of  her!"  repeated  Walter  slowly. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Beekman.  "We  have  worried 
greatly  over  her  since  she  left  us  so  suddenly." 

"Left  you  suddenly!"  gasped  Walter.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

"Perhaps  you  did  not  know,"  said  Howard.  "Of 
course  she  could  not  have  written  to  you  in  time  for 
you  to  get  the  letter  before  leaving  the  other  side." 

"In  mercy/'  cried  Walter,  "will  you  tell  me  what  you 
mean?  I  thought  Viola  was  here.  Is  she  not  here? 
If  not,  where  then?" 

"Then  you  do  not  know!"  cried  Mrs.  Beekman. 
"Oh!  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  her.  She  left 
us  before  Christmas." 

"Left  you  before  Christmas !"  cried  Walter.  "Where 
did  she  go?  Why  did  she  go?" 

Mrs.  Beekman  shook  her  head. 

"She  left  us  suddenly  and  without  any  warning. 
She  did  not  even  say  good-by  to  us." 

"Merciful  Heaven!"  cried  Walter.  "Her  enemies 
have  found  her!" 

"Her  enemies !"  said  Mrs.  Beekman  and  her  son  to- 
gether. "What  enemies  had  she?" 

"Ah!  I  remember."  said  Walter,  his  mind  working 
quickly.  "She  did  not  tell  you  her  sad  story.  I  must 


Good  Intentions. 

not  take  time  to.  repeat  it  all:  She  was  accused  of  theft 
You  must  know  that  she  could  not  be  guilty.  Tell  me 
when  she  went  away,,  and  all  about  it." 

•"It  was  one  afternoon,"  Howard  said.  "She  had 
'been  playing  with  my  little  boy  in  the  snow.  When  he 
was  tired  of  the'  play  he  came  into  the  house,  and  she 
went  out  to  a  little  lake,  apparently  to  skate.  When  I 
went  out  a  little  later,  sh6  was' gone,  and  the  footprints 
showed  that  she  had  been  joined  by  sonie  man;  arid 
had  walked  wlttivhiin  to*the  road/  where  she  got  into  a 
sleigh  with  him.  We  have  not  seeh  her  since/" 
''.  "And  you  did  nothing :rat>out  it  ?"  crimed  Walter  in- 
dignantly. 

"Did  nothing  !'•  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beeknmn*  "My  son 
jumped  into  a' sleigh  and; tried  tb  find  h$r.  ,He  was  not 
home  until  after  midnight  that  nightr  And  tlup  next- 
day  he  was  out  all  day  long.  We  gave  the  alarm  and 
'  had  the  whole  country  searched:  T^hen  when  we  could- 
not  find  hfer  we  decided  that  she  must  have  intended  to 
leave  us."  • 

"Did'-the  footprints  tell-yjou  nothing ;-?"  Walter  asked, \ 
'a  prey  to  agony,  but  .maintaining  his  composure  wftii 
marvelous  st-r-etigth  of  will. 

"They  only  told  us  that  she  must  have  gone .  will- 
ingly, for  there  was  no  evidence  bf  <t  stfUggie,  and  it 
was  plain  that  she  had  gone  for  a  long  distance  by  the 
side  of  her  companion/' 


Good  Intentions.  213 

Walter  placed  his  hands  to  his  temples  as  if  to 
subdue  the  throbbing,  that  he  might  think  more  clearly. 

"What  can  have  happened  to  her?"  he  murmured. 
"But  I  shall  discover  soon.  And  if  harm  has  come  to 
her,  woe  to  them  who  have  done  it!  My  darling!  my 
darling  !" 

An  expression  of  pain  and  doubt  crept  into  the  sweet 
face  of  Mrs.  Beekman.  It  was  impossible  to  look 
at  arid  hear  Walter  without  believmg  in  him. 

Howard  saw  the  expression,  and  feared  that  his 
mother  would  be  carried  away  by  her  feelings,  and  be- 
tray the  truth  to  his  rival. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  him  to  comprehend  that  if 
Walter  were  to  see  Viola,  all  hope  for  him  would  be 
gone. 

He  saw  in  Walter  just  such  a  man  as  any  woman 
might  love,  and  who,  i'f  loved,  would  pfove  irresistible. 

" We  ishall  only  be  tod  glad  to  aid  you  in  any  way  in 
our  power,  Mr.  Hardman,"  he  said.  "If  we  had 
•doubted  that  she  w:as  in  safety,  we  would  never  have 
ceased  our  efforts  to  find  her.  I  cannot  think  why  she 
did  not  tell  us  her  story.  Wt  were  too  fond  of  her  to 
have  believed  such  a  thing  of  her/' 

"The  shame  of  the  accusation  and  of  her  arrest  had 
stayed  her  tongue,"  said  Walter  absently. 

He  was  settling  in-  his  mind  the  proper  course  of  ac- 
tion. One  thijag  ^liowoH  .itself  clearly  to  him.  He 


2T4  Good  Intentions. 

must  see  his  father  and  Peter  Harriem.     Then  there 
was  Eunice. 

"I  must  return  to  the  city/'  he  said,  with  decision, 

"You  will  have  supper  first/*  Mrs.  Beekman  said. 

"I  could  not  eat  with  this  terrible  load  on  my  heart/' 
he  answered.  "You  will  forgive  me  if  I  go  at  once/' 

He  took  his  hat  and  was  going  out  of  the  room,  when 
Mrs.  Beekman  stopped  him,  saying: 

"There  is  no  train  for  you  to  take,  Mr.  Hardman. 
Eat  supper  with  us,  and  we  will  send  you  down  to  the 
first  train.  Besides,  we  may,  by  talking  it  over,  see 
some  way  by  which  we  can  help  you.  You  may  de- 
pend upon  us/' 

Howard  Beekman  viewed  his  mother  with  uneasi- 
ness. He  saw  that  she  had  a  design  in  trying  to  keep 
Walter. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  must  be  doing  something/'  Walter 
answered,  his  face  showing  the  agony  he  felt. 

"I  can  understand  the  feeling/'  Mrs.  Beekman  said 
kindly,  as  she  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm  in  a  motherly 
way.  "If  you  love  Viola  truly,  the  loss  of  her  would 
be  madness." 

"If  I  love  her  truly!"  Walter  said,  with  vehement 
passion.  "I  love  her  better  than  life.  I  would  give 
up  all  else  for  her.  Love  her!  Words  are  too  weak, 
I  shall  go  mad  if  I  do  not  do  something.  But,  no.  I 
will  not  give  way.  I  must  be  calm  in  order  that  I 


Good  Intentions.  215 

may  hunt  down  her  persecutors.  And  that  I  will  do, 
though  my  own  father  be  one  of  them." 

"Your  father!"  cried  Mrs.  Beekman.  "Do  you  sus- 
pect him?" 

Howard  saw  that  his  mother  was  rapidly  being  won 
by  the  candor  and  frank  honesty  of  the  young  man ; 
he  trembled  lest  she  should  tell  the  truth  and  snatch 
Viola  from  his  powrer. 

"I  have  reason  to  suspect  everybody,"  Walter  said. 
"Viola  and  I  were  in  love.  My  father  wished  me  to 
marry  a  wealthier  girl,  and  I  refused.  He  persuaded 
me  to  consent  to  a  year's  probation  with  the  under- 
standing that  I  was  to  marry  Viola  if  I  still  wished 
at  the  end  of  a  year.  As  if  one  who  had  ever  known 
her  would  forget  her  or  love  her  less." 

"And  if  you  find  her  now,  then/'  Mrs.  Beekmaii  said 
eagerly,  "you  would  wish  to  make  her  your  wife?" 

"I  would  insist  upon  it  in  order  that  I  might  secure 
her  from  the  machinations  of  her  enemies,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"You  must  remain  to  supper,"  Mrs.  Beekman  said,  in 
a  decided  tone.  "I-  tell  you  we  can  help  you.  You 
might  as  well  remain,  for  you  could  not  get  a  train 
by  going.  Excuse  me  and  I  will  order  supper  at  once. 
Howard,  will  you  come  with  me  and  give  your  orders 
yourself  about  the  carriage.  You  will  lose  nothing  by 
remaining,  Mr.  Hardman." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  D  Q  N  '  T      M  A..R  R-Y     VIOLA  ." 

"Howard,"  said  Mrs.  Beekman,  in  a  tone  of  ftrtri 
conviction,  the  moment  they  were  alone,  "I  arn  sure 
that  young  man  is  the  soul  of  honor.  There  has  been 
a  strange  mistake." 

-"He  is  a  good  actor,  rather,"  Howard  said  sullenly, 
his  brain  busy  with :  a  determination  to  discover  some 
way  to  keep  his  mother  from  telling  Walter  the  truth. 

'He  is  not  acting;  Howard,"  she  responded  firmly. 
"I  know  truth  when  I  see  it,  and  I  purpose  to  bring 
those  two  loVers  together.  Think  of  the  happiness  of 
Viola  in  meeting  him." 

Howard  closed  his  teeth  to  keep  back  a  fierce  im- 
precation. 

"I  do  not  believe  in  him,"  he  said.  "My  informa- 
tion catenot  be  wrong.  The  truth  probably  is  that  he 
has  learned  through  one  of  his  agents  that  Viola  is  here, 
and  has  hurried  over  from  Europe  to  lay  claim  to  her." 

"There  was  truth  in  his  tones,  my  son,  when  he  told 
me  he  loved  her,  and  would  make  her  his  wife.  Take 
care  that  you  do  not  blind  yourself  with  your  own 
passion.  Surely  you  would  not  d<|  anything  remotely 
dishonorable/* 


"Don't  Marry  Viola.*  21 J 

"Is  it  dishonorable/'  he  demanded,  "to  save  her  from 
a  scoundrel?  Because  I  love  her,  I  am  more  careful 
than  you." 

"You  have  nothing  to  fear/"  his  mother  said 
gravely.  "I  tell  you  he  is  a  highminded,  noble  young 
man/  My  intuition  cannot  be  false." 

A  sudden  thought  came  to  Howard  in  the  midst  of 
his  despair.  , 

"You  may  be  right,  mother/'  he  said.  "Give  me 
time  to  think  it  over.  You  know  I  am  not  as  quick 
as  you,  Let  me  consider  it,  and  if  I  have  no  better 
plan,  I  will  accede  to  yours." 

"Spoken  like  my  son!"  said  the  good  old  lady,  strok- 
ing his  cheek.  , 

He  pushed  her  hand  away  impatiently  and  strode 
out  of  the  room,  saying  : 

"I  will  go  order  the  carnage.  I  must  get  into  the 
fresh  air  to  think." 

"Poor  Howard!"  murmured  the  old  lady  compas- 
sionately. "He  loves  her  so  madly  that  it  is  hard  for 
him  to  give  her  up.  But  his  own  noble  nature  will  con- 
quer. When  he  sees,  as  I  do,  that  Walter  Hardman 
is  worthy  of  Viola,  he  will  be  quick  to  place  her  hand 
in  his."  ; 

But  there  was  little  prospect  of  such  a  change  in 
the  spirit  of  Howard  Beekman. 

He  threw  on  his  hat  and  coat,  and  hastened  .out  o£ 


218  "Don't  Marry  Viola/* 

the  house.  But  instead  of  going  out  to  the  stable,  he 
sought  the  front  of  the  house,  where  he  crept  along, 
whistling  softly. 

Presently  his  whistle  was  answered,  and  he  was 
joined  in  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  trees  by  the  shiver- 
ing form  of  Peter  Harriem. 

"Ugh!  how  cold  it  is!"  chattered  Peter.  "What 
does  he  say?" 

"What  he  says  is  nothing.  He  has  persuaded  ray 
mother  that  he  is  true  and  honorable,  and  unless  I  can 
think  of  some  excuse  to  prevent  it,  she  will  tell  him 
that  Viola  is  in  the  house,  and  this  very  evening  they 
will  be  united.  Help  me  out  of  the  difficulty  if  your 
brains  are  better  than  mine." 

•  Anger  warmed  the  thin  body  of  the  sly  wretch.  It 
seemed  as  if  there  could  be  no  way  to  prevent  the  cat- 
astrophe. 

''It  must  not  be,"  he  hissed.  "He  must  not  marry 
her." 

He  spoke  with  such  passion  that  Howard's  first  sus- 
picions of  him  were  reawakened. 

"How  does  it  concern  you  so  closely?"  he  asked 
sharply. 

"Concern  me!"  cried  Peter,  recollecting  himself  sud- 
denly. "It  does  not  concern  me  directly,  but  it  con- 
cerns Miss  Carroll,  and  if  I  do  not  serve  her  well,  she 


"Don't  Marry  Viola."  219 

has  it  in  her  power  to  ruin  me  forever.  I  have  good 
reason  to  work  strenuously  for  her." 

''Now  I  can  comprehend  your  earnestness,"  Howard 
said.  "Concoct  some  scheme,  then,  that  will  keep  my 
mother  from  telling  him." 

"First  tell  me  everything  you  can  remember,"  said 
Peter. 

Howard  went  over  the  conversation  that  had  taken 
place  in  the  house,  and  Peter  asked  questions  until  he 
knew  all  that  had  been  said,  and  was  able  to  form  an 
idea  of  the  situation. 

He  saw  just  how  easy  it  would  be  for  Walter  to 
learn  the  whole  truth  now,  with  Mrs.  Beekman  so 
kindly  disposed  toward  him. 

Swiftly  into  his  brain  flashed  again  that  picture  of 
Walter  struck  from  behind  and  falling  over  the  cliff. 

"If  Walter  Hardman  were  only  dead,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

Howard  shuddered  and  drew  away.  But  Peter  fol- 
lowed him  closely,  and  murmured  : 

"We  may  put  off  the  revelation  by  your  mother. 
But  a  woman  once  disposed  as  she  is  will  soon  ferret 
out  the  truth.  And  then  you  will  certainly  lose  your 
love." 

"But  he  will  not  die  because  we  wish  it,"  Howard 
gasped. 


220  "Don't  Marry  Viola/' 

"Who  knows?"  hissed  the  serpentlike  voice  of  Peter. 
"Other  men  have  died  conveniently." 

"Are  you  talking  of  murder?"  panted  Howard,  the 
idea  becoming  less  abhorrent,  to  him  as  he  thought 
more  of  it. 

"Murder !  what  an  ugly  word !.  It  would  not  be  mur- 
der if  he  fell  over  that  cliff  on  the  way  to  the  sta- 
tion." 

"No,  but  how  can  we  expect  him  to  fall  there  ?"  asked 
Howard,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Suppose  you  walked  with  him  to  the  station/'  said 
Peter,  in  his  most  insinuating  tones,  "and  he  should 
go  too  near  the  edge,  and  trip  ?" 

"I -could  not  make  him  do  it,"  Howard  said. 

"But  you  would  not  mind  having  him  fall,  I  sup- 
pose?" Pet^r.  sneered. 

"No.  I  would  be  glad  if  he  were  dead,  but  I  could 
not  do  it,  I  would  forever  see  his  face  before  me. 
I  wish  him  dead,  but  I  will  not  kill  him." 

In  the  silence  of  his  heart,  Peter  cursed  his  compan- 
ion.    He  had  hoped  to  persuade  him  to  do  the   foul  t 
deed  which  would  rid  hino  of  a  stnmblingblock,  and 
would  put  the  eurse  of  Gain  on  Howard  himself. 

If  it  had  been  a  question  of  facing  Walter  or  any 
one  much  less  able  to  defend  himself,  Peter  would 
never  have  considered  the  matter  for  a  moment.  As 
it  was,  he  whisr)Ci<V;  : 


"Doirt  Marry  Viola/'  22  r 

"Will 'you  say  to  your  mother  that  if  she  wilt  post- 
pone her  revelation  until  you  can  have  time  to  see 
Viola's  mother,  you  will  consent?" 

"Of  course  I  will  say  that.  But  what  is  your  pur- 
pose?" 

"You  shall  see.  Then  will  you  persuade  Walter  to 
.walk  to  the  station?" 

"Yes.     I  will  say  that  the  horses  are  sick." 

"That  will  do.  Then  you  must  give  him  a  glass  of 
wine  before  he  leaves,  and  into  the  wine  you  must  put  a, 
few  drops  of  some  drug.  Have  you  such  a  thing  in  the 
house?" 

Howard  shuddered. 

"Yes;  in  the  medicine  closet  are  all  such  things." 

"Arid -you-  will  do  as  I  say?"'  asked  Peter,  his  beady 
eyes  glittering  in  the  dark,  as  he  realized  fiow  easily 
Howard  was  falling  into  the trap  set  fot^him. 
•    "I  will  do  it/1  Howard  said. 

"And  then  you  have  only  to  accompany  hki%' as  far 
as  the  entrance  to  the  part  of  the  road  that  leads 
by  the  cliff.  By  that  time  he  will  begin  to  feel  the 
effects  of •  the  drug,  and  will—  well,  never  mind  the 
rest." 

"But — but—    -"  stammered  Howard  shudderingly. 

"Pshaw f'  said  Peter.    "It  seems, to.  me  you  have  no 

reason  to  ucter  a  ~word  of  doubt.     Your  part  is  easy. 

[You  would  not  have  me,  who  has  no  interest  in  the 


222  "Don't  Marry  Viola." 

matter,  risk  my  life  in  an  encounter  with  a  man  so 
much  superior  in  strength?" 

"But  to  drug  him  and — and " 

Peter  sneered. 

"Well,  I  have  advised  you.  You  may  do  as  you 
please.  I  can  return  to  Miss  Carroll  and  assure  her 
that  I  did  all  I  could.  I  am  sure  I  have  no  wish  to 
do  the  thing/' 

"She — she  wishes  it,  1  suppose,"  said  Howard,  try- 
ing to  palter  with  himself  by  trying  to  believe  that  the 
crime  would  be  of  her  instigation  and  not  his. 

Peter  emitted  his  noiseless  chuckle. 

"Of  course  she  wishes  it.  She  has  told  me  a  thou- 
sand times  that  she  would  rather  see  him  dead  than 
married  to  Viola.  Oh,  yes,  she  as  good  as  advised  it 
herself." 

"I  don't  see  how  any  harm  could  come  to  me/'  How- 
ard murmured. 

"Of  course  not." 

"I  would  make  her  a  better  husband  than  he  would," 
said  Howard,  with  a  miserable  attempt  to  justify  the 
horror. 

"As  for  that,"  sneered  the  subtle  demon  at  his  side, 
"there  can  be  no  guessing.  So  you  will  do  as  you  say? 
Well,  I  shall  be  in  th?  neighborhood  and  see  that  no 
harm  befalls  vour  euesC' 


"Don't  Marry  Viola/'  223 

"You  will  freeze  to  death,"  said  Howard,  his  teeth 
chattering. 

"Is  there  any  building  around  here  where  i  could 
hide?"  asked  Peter. 

"Here  is  the  key  to  the  tool  house.  It  is  out  of  the 
way,  and  is  warmer  than  almost  any  other  of  the 
buildings." 

"Bring  me  out  something  to  eat  if  you  can,  will 
you?" 

"Yes,  I  will  bring  you  out  something  to  eat,  and  to 
drink,  too,"  Howard  said. 

"All  right.  I'll  go  in  there  and  wait  for  you.  I 
suppose  you  won't  change  your  mind  after  all?" 

"No,  I  do  not  care  what  becomes  of  him;  it  will  not 
be  my  doing/' 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

WAS    HE    WORTHY    OF    HER? 

During  Howard's  absence  from  the  house,  his 
mother  had  thought  more  carefully  about  Walter,  and 
was  thoroughly  convinced  that  he  was  all  he  seemed 
to  be. 

She  felt  that  it  would  be  wronging  Viola  not  to 
give  her  the  opportunity  to  see  her  lover,  from  whom 
she  had  been  separated,  and  she  had  quite  decided  that 
she  should  see  him  when  Howard  came  into  the  room. 

She  glanced  tip  at  him,  and  was  startled  by  the 
deathly  pallor  of  his  face. 

Immediately  she  jumped  to  a  conclusion  which  ex- 
pressed itself  in  her  pitying  thought: 

"He  loves  her  so  madly  that  it  is  like  death  to  him 
to  give  her  up. 

"My  poor  boy  !"  she  said  aloud. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"- he  asked,  with  a  guilty 
start. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said  sorrowfully,  "that  I  can- 
not read -your  thoughts?  Ah!  I  am  so  sorry." 

He  cursed  his  nervousness,  which  for  the  moment 
had  made  him  think  she  suspected  the  terrible  plot  he 
had  entered  into. 


Was  He  Worthy  of  Her?  225 

/'What  do  you  read?"  he  asked  evasively. 

"I  read  that  you  love  Viola  so  much. that  you  cannot 
bear  to  give  her  up." 

"I"  do  love  her,"  he  said,  "with  a  passion  I  never 
dreamed  myself  capable  of.  I  never  before  knew  what, 
love  was.  It  will  kill  me  to  give  her  up." 

"Ah }  no,"  she  said  soothingly,  "it  will  not  kill  you  to 
do  •right/' 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "whether  it  kills  me  or  not,  if 
he  be  true  to  her  I  must  give  her  up." 

<  "That  was  my  noble  boy  who  spoke  then,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"But  first,"  he  went  on  doggedly,  "I  must  have  a  bet-  ; 
ter  proof  of  his  good  intentions  than  your  mere,  in-*! 
tuition."  \ 

"What  proof,  Howard?"  she  asked  gently. 

"I  must  have  him  followed  by  my  detective  in  New  ' 
York.     He  will  know  how  true  his  words  are  as  to 
his  readiness  to  quarrel  with  his  father." 

"And  not  let  poor  Viola  see  him?"  she  queried  re- 
gretfully. 

"Not  yet,"  he  answered  sharply.  "You  know  that 
if  they  meet  she  will  believe  anything  he-tells  her.  Be 
just  to  me  as  well  as  generous  to  him." 

"Howard,  dear,"  she  remonstrated,  in  a  hurt  tone, 
"you  know  I  would  never  sacrifice  you  except  to  the 
right." 


226  Was  He   Worthy  of  iierr 

"You  mean,  mother,"  he  answered  irritably,  "that 
you  are  willing  to  sacrifice  me  to  your  own  notion  of 
right.  I  claim  that  it  is  no  more  than  fair  that  he 
should  be  tested.  If  he  is  worthy  of  her  I  must  give 
way,  but  if  he  is  not  I  have  a  right  to  ask  that  I  have 
the  chance  to  win  her  and  make  her  happy/' 

"And  you  wish  me  to  let  him  depart  from  the  house 
to-night  in  order  that  your  detective  may  follow  him  in 
the  city?" 

"Yes,  mother/' 

"Well,  I  will  accede ;  but  I  tell  you  frankly,  Howard, 
that  you  are  not  doing  what  is  right/' 

"I  must  take  the  responsibility  of  that,  mother/'  he 
replied,  rejoiced  that  he  had  won  his  battle  so  easily. 

"Have  vou  ordered  the  carriage?"  she  asked,  in  a 
tone  that  showed  how  little  she  liked  yielding  her  point. 

"I  find  that  the  worses  are  not  fit  to  go  out  to-night. 
He  will  not  mind  walking-.  I  wiH  go  part  of  the  dis- 
tance with  him  in  order  to  show  him  the  way/' 

"Very  well,"  Mrs.  Beekman  said,  and  dismissed  that 
part  of  the  conversation  from  her  mind 

She  was  determined  that,  if  she  could  not  give  Wai* 
ter  the  happiness  of  meeting  Viola,  she  would  at  least 
bestow  on  him  such  happiness  as  there  might  be  in  con- 
versation about  her. 

So  she  returned  :.i  once  to  the  room  where  she  had 


Was  He  Worthy  of  Her?  227 

left  Walter,  while  Howard  glided  into  the  lower  part 
of  the  house  and  contrived,  unobserved,  to  purloin 
some  food. 

This,  with  a  bottle  of  light  wine  he  took  out  to  the 
tool  house,  where  Peter  was  ensconced,  and  where  he 
found  it  possible  to  be  comfortable. 

All  that  troubled  Peter's  mind  was  that  his  good 
clothes  would  be  soiled  by  the  tools  he  was  forced  to 
come  in  contact  with,  which  might  entail  the  expendi- 
ture of  some  money. 

'Til  get  that  out  of  Beekman,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  waited. 

And  so,  after  Howard  had  given  him  the  food  and 
wine,  and  had  whispered  that  his  mother  had  been  won 
over,  Peter  whined : 

"I  shall  be  out  of  pocket  by  this  trip,  and  I  am  a 
poor  man.  Miss  Carroll  never  pays  me  for  what 
I  do." 

"I  will  willingly  pay  you,"  said  Howard.  "I  have 
some  money  with  me.  How  much  would  satisfy  you  ?" 

Peter  could  never  bear  to  set  a  price,  lest  it  should 
be  lower  than  the  other  would  be  willing  to  give. 

"I'd  rather  leave  that  to  you,  Mr.  Beekman.  All  I 
say  is  that  I'm  a  very  poor  man,  and  that  nothing  will 
come  amiss." 

"I  think  there  are  one  hundred  dollars  there,"  How- 


Was  He  Worthy  of  Her? 

arcl  said  quickly,  as  he  thrust  a  roll  of  bills  into  the 
hand  of  the  other.     "Take It!" 

He  could  not  help  thinking  with  a 'shudder  that  he 
was  paying  blood  money,  and  there  was  a  terribly 
heavy  feeling  in  his  heart. 

'I  think,"  chuckled  Peter,  in  a  tone' of  horrible  pur- 
pose, "that  one  of  these  hammers  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  the  deed. " 

"My  Heaven!  Don't  talk  in  that  way P  -gasped 
Howard:  "And  don't  remove  any  of  these  tools,  01 
suspicion  might  fall  on  me." 

The  same  thought  had  instantly  leaped  into  the  brain 
of  Peter,  and  he  cursed  himself-  for  his  ill-timed  levity. 

"If  I  hadn't  said  anything."  he  thought,  ."I  could 
have  taken  a  hammer  and-1  left  it  where  it  would  be 
found.  Then  I  would  onty  need  to  prove* an alibi,  and 
I  wo  u  1  d  be  a  M  r  i  gh  t . 

"Of  course  I  yvon't  take  any  of  them;"  he  said.  "I 
am  not  a  fool." 

You  will  be  cold  in  here,  Fm  afraid/'  Howard  sard. 

"Don't  worry  about  me,"  Peter  answered.  "What 
time  will  you  leave  the  house  for  the  station,?" 

"At  precisely  eight  o'clock." 

"'All  right.  I  shall  get  out  of  here  by  quarter  of. 
Don't  take  too  long  in  getting  there,  for  it  is  cold  wait- 
ing out  in  the  night  air." 

"I  will  hurry."  Howard  said,  in  a  low  tone. 


,  Was  He  Worthy  of  Her?  ,229 

•-<•'•'•  /  •  '•  '•  •'••'  .'./ 

Mrs.  Beeknian,  meanwhile,  had  found  Walter  agi- 
tatedly pacing  the  floor  of  the  sitting  room. 

"You  are  distressing  yourself  about  Viola?"  she  said 
kindly. 

"How  can  I  help  it?"  he  demanded.  "If  you  could 
only  know  how  I  love  her,  you  would  understand.  I 
loved  her  the  first  moment  I  ever  saw  her,  and  never 
since  has  there  been  any  woman  in  the  world  for  me/' 

"She  is , worthy  of  your  great  devotion,  Mr.  Hard- 
man/'  the  old  lady  said.  "I  have  learned  to  love  her 
since  she  has  been  with  me." 

"She  has  written  me  how  good  yo/u  have  been  to 
Jier,"  he  answered.  "I  was  so  sure  I  would  find  her 
here.  It  all  seems  so  strange.  If  it  were  not  that  I 
.can  ^ee  truth  and  honesty  in  your  eyes,  Mrs.  Beekman, 
I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  td  doubt  you." 

The  good  old  lady  flushed  crimson. 

"Do  not  doubt  me,"  she  said  earnestly.  "I  give  you 
my  word  that  I  have  in  my  heart  nothing  but  love  for 
Viola,  and  good  will  for  you.  My  dearest  wish  is  that 
she  will  be  truly  mated." 

From  this  the  conversation  branched  to  other  things, 
though  always  filled  with  thoughts  of  Viola. 

Mrs.  Beekman  told  Walter  all  the  things  she  could 
remember  of  Viola,  and  described  how  bravely,  the  lat- 
ter had  rescued  little  Rupert. 


230  Was  He  Worthy  of  Her? 

4>My  son  and  I  are  her  everlasting  debtors  for  that 
deed.  And  even  if  we  did  not  love  her  for  herself,  we 
would  cherish  her  for  that  noble  act/'  she  said. 

How  could  Walter  doubt  the  absolute  good  faith  of 
his  hosts,  when  Mrs.  Beekman  discoursed  to  him  so 
earnestly  of  the  love  she  bore  Viola. 

There  had  been  a  vague  uneasiness  in  his  mind, 
hardly  amounting  to  a  doubt,  before;  but  by  the  time 
Howard  returned  to  the  room,  Walter  was  fain  to  ad- 
mit that  he  was  with  good  friends  of  Viola's. 

Howard  did  his  best  to  maintain  this  illusion,  but 
while  Walter  did  not  again  revert  to  his  uneasiness  re- 
garding him,  he  found  it  much  more  agreeable  to  him 
to  converse  with  Mrs.  Beekman. 

The  supper  passed  off  in  a  rather  constrained  way, 
for  there  could  be  little  cheerful  intercourse  under  the 
circumstances. 

Walter's  mind  was  full  of  misery  over  Viola's  mys- 
terious absence,  and  Howard's  was  filled  with  terrible 
thoughts  that  he  did  his  best  to  combat. 

But  all  through  the  supper  the  idea  presented  itself 
to  him  that  he  was  talking  to  a  doomed  man. 

Now  and  again  the  picture  came  into  his  mind  of  the 
stealthy  assassin  stealing  upon  his  victim,  crushing 
his  head  in,  and  then  throwing  him  off  the  cliff. 

Sometimes  ft  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  bear  it  any 


Was  He  Worthy  of  Her?  231 

longer,  and  as  if  he  must  go  out  and  warn  Peter  that 
he  must  not  do  it. 

Then  the  specious  argument  would  present  itself 
that  it  was  none  of  his  business,  since  it  was  not  a 
deed  of  his  doing. 

"I  shall  have  to  ask  your  pardon  for  not  taking  you 
to  the  station  in  the  carriage/'  he  said,  as  supper  neared 
its  end. 

"It  will  not  matter  to  me,  so  that  I  get  there  in  time," 
replied  Walter.  "I  beg  of  you  not  to  let  me  be  late." 

"I  will  take  care  of  that/7  Howard  said;  "and  to  be 
sure  that  you  do  not  go  wrong  I  will  accompany  you* 
part  of  the  way." 

When  supper  was  over,  and  it  was  time  to  start, 
Howard,  with  a  white  face  which  he  concealed  by  turn- 
ing away,  said  carelessly : 

"It  is  so  cold  out  I  think  I  will  take  a  drop  of  brandy 
before  starting.  I  will  bring  you  a  glass." 

"I  seldom  touch  anything,  thank  you,"  Walter  said. 

Nevertheless  Howard  entered  the  room  a  few  mo- 
ments later,  a  tiny  glass  of  brandy  in  his  hand,  saying: 

"Drink  it !  it  will  do  you  good.  You  have  been  under 
a  considerable  strain  to-day,  and  will  need  a  little  stim- 
ulant." 

It  seemed  true  enough  to  Walter,  and  the  quantity 
seemed  so  little,  that  he  took  the  glass  and  tossed  the 
contents  down  his  throat. 


&$2  Was  He  Worthy  of  Her? 

He  thought  the  taste  rather  queer ;  but,  as  he  was  n<$ 
judge  of  brandy,  he  gave  it  no  further  thought. 

"Good  night!"  h^  said  to  Mrs.  Beekman.  "Heaven 
bless  you  for  your  kindness  to  my  daHing!" 

"Both  you  and  she  will  always  be  welcome  guests  in 
this  house/'  Mrs.  Beekman  responded. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

LURING     HIS     VICTIM, 

There  was  hidden  in  the  nature  of  Peter  Harnern  the 
ferocity  of -the  wild  beast.  If  He  had  had  the  courage 
of  the  brute  he  would  have  been  a  terrible  man. 

The  deed  he  had  elected  to  do  did  not  trouble  him, 
except  as  it  presented  the  possibility  of  danger. 

In  fact,  he  almost  gloated  over  the  part  he  had  to 
play.  He  rehearsed  in  his  evil  brain  just  how  he  would 
do  it. 

And  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  steal  forth  from 
his  hiding  place,  he  lighted  a  match  and  looked  quickly 
about  him. 

He  would  not  take  one  of  the  tools  that  would  be 
missed;  but  he  would  trust  to  any  stick  he  might  be 
able  to  find  in  the  darkness. 

The  handle  of  a  mattock  caught  his  eye,  and  he  took 
it  in  his  hand  and  weighed  it  to  see  if  it  was  something 
he  would  be  likely  to  find  too  heavy  for  him  to  wield. 

"It  will  do/'  he  murmured.  "A  blow  from  that  will 
forever  silence  him.  How  I  hate  him!  I  always  did 
hate  him.  I  hated  him  when  he  was  a  lad  and  used 
to  come  to  the  store  all  decked  out  in  fine  clothes,  the 
price  of  which  would  3m ve  paid  for  my  doling  for  ten 
years.-:  ;  •  ••...,-:..-, •'.-.:••  ,.  Hi  .  .  ;•  :.  -;  •  .  •  -.•.•.<  \ 


234  Luring  His  Victim. 

"Then  he  came  between  me  and  Viola.  That  is 
what  I  am  doing  this  for.  Bah !  no  one  will  ever  find 
it  out.  I  would  not  have  let  that  fool  Beekman  know 
if  it  had  not  been  that  I  wish  to  have  him  under  my 
thumb.  I  shall  soon  be  done  with  him. 

"Now,  let  me  get  out  of  here.  I  will  take  the  key 
as  a  bit  of  evidence  against  Beekman.  Ah-a!  Peter 
Harriem  is  too  cunning  and  subtle  for  these  rich  swells. 
Little  by  little  he  is  climbing  his  way  to  the  head. 

"One  of  these  days  he  will  be  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  New  York,  and  he  will  have  the  prettiest  wife  in 
New  York,  too.  She  shall  wear  good  clothes  to  do  me 
honor.  I  will  dress  her  well,  but  she  must  be  careful 
of  her  dresses,  and  not  wear  them  out,  as  the  silly 
creatures  do  who  come  to  us  to  buy.  That  will  do 
for  others,  but  my  wife  must  be  careful.  It  is  wrong 
to  waste  money,  for  money  is  power." 

He  crept  like  a  snake  away  from  the  dismal  litde 
tool  house,  and  soon  was  gliding  along  the  road  toward 
the  cliff. 

Walter  and  Howard,  meanwhile,  were  walking  along 
briskly  after  him.  They  were  some  distance  behind, 
but  the  air  was  biting,  and  Walter  was  impatient,  so 
they  moved  on  rapidly. 

"I  am  sorry  you  should  have  had  to  walk,"  Howard 
said,  simply  to  maintain  a  conversation;  for  somehow 
he  could  not  bear  to  walk  in  silence. 


Luring  His  Victim.  235 

"It  does  not  matter,"  Walter  said.  "1  am  giad  to 
walk.  Something  seems  the  matter  with  me,  anyhow. 
My  head  feels  heavy.  I  am  glad  to  walk." 

"You  have  been  on  such  a  strain,  I  suppose/'  said 
Howard,  with  a  little  catch  in  his  voice.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  were  delivering  his  companion,  bound 
and  helpless,  to  an  assassin. 

"Perhaps  that  is  it.  I  did  not  feel  it  until  I  came 
out  into  the  open  air.  No  doubt  it  will  soon  pass 
away." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  head  as  he  spoke,  and 
the  next  moment  his  foot  struck  against  something, 
and  he  stumbled. 

"That  was  careless,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  pick  my 
feet  up." 

"Do  you  feel  ill?"  asked  Howard,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Only  this  heaviness.  Let  us  walk  faster.  Perhaps 
I  can  throw  it  off.  I  suppose  I  must  be  feeling  the 
change  from  the  ocean  to  the  steady  land.  Some  per- 
sons do,  I  am  told." 

"That  is  it,  no  doubt,"  Howard  said  huskily. 
"Would  you  like  to  turn  back?" 

If  Walter  had  only  taken  up  the  invitation,  perhaps 
the  end  would  have  been  different.  But  these  things 
go  as  they  are  ordered.  He  refused. 

"Thank  you,  no.  It  is  nothing.  I  shall  be  all  right 
when  I  get  on  the  cars.  I  must  not  lose  any  time  in 


236  Luriiig  His  Victim. 

hunting  for  Viola.    Ugh !  what  a  miserable  twinge 
was.     Stop  a  moment!" 

He  rested  for  a  second,  and  then  moved  rapidly  on 
again,  fearing  he  would  not  otherwise  be  able  to  make 
his  way  to  the  station. 

He  leaned  unconsciously  on  Howard,  and  the  latter 
dared  not  push  him  away,  but  the  contact  with  the  man 
he  was  leading  to  his  death  made  the  beads  of  perspira^ 
lion  roll  off  his  forehead. 

"How  far  is  it  ?"  Walter  asked. 

""About  half  a  mile  from  here.    Can  you  get  on?" 

"I  must,"  was  the  response. 

It  was  not  far  now  to  the  place  where  he  should 
abandon  Walter  to  his  fate.  But  Howard  hesitated;  it 
seemed  to  him  like  committing  the  -murder.  And  yet, 
if  he  did  not,  was  it  not  likely  that  Walter  would  take 
Viola  frorn  him? 

But  to  say  to  his  companion  that  he  would  leave  him 
just  when  he  was  feeling  so  wretched.  It  was  hor- 
rible! 

**I — I  was  going  to  leave  you  just  beyond.. here,  "he 
said.  "But  since  you  feel  as  you  do,  I  thinkt— I  think 
that  you  had  better  return  with  me.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"No,  I  will  go  on.  This  is  nothing.  Do  not  mind 
.Tie'." 


Luring  His  Victim;  237 

•"Will  -yb it  be  able  to  reach  the  station?0  asked 
Howard.  "Are  you  sure  you  can  find  the  way?'* 

Walter  stopped  again  and  pressed  his  hands  to  his 
head. 

"It  seems  as  if  I  were  going  to  sleep/'  he  murmured. 
''What  can  it  be?  Can  I  really  be  ill?" 

"Perhaps  it  will  pass  away  better  if  you  move  on/* 
Howard  suggested,  fearing  now  .that  Walter  would 
become  unconscious  before. the  right  place  was  reached. 
i-  "Yes,"  said  Walter,  with  a  violent  effort,  "I  will 
move  on.  I— I  feel  better  now/' 

He  did  seem  to,  and  went  on  again: with  more  vigor, 
though  constantly  passing  his  hands  over  his  eyes  as 
if  to  dispel  a: cloud  that  had  gathered  over  them 

"Don't  go  farther  than  you  should/'  he  said.  "I 
feel  better  now:0 

"Really?"  demanded  Howard.  "I  am  afraid  you 
say  that  only  to  be  polite/'  ,  _ 

"No,  it  is  true;    Is  this  the  place?" 

"I  was  going  to  leave  you  here;  but  under  the  cir- 
cumstances-  -" 

"Good-byT  Walter  held  out  his  hand,  which  How- 
ard took  with  a  sort  of  horror.  "I  hope  to  get  news  of 
fViola  whelrf  am  in  the  city.  Anyhow,  I  shall  find  her 
eventually,  and  I  will  make  those  who  hav£  persecuted 
her  rue  it.  Good-by!  thank  you  for  your  many  kind- 


238  Luring  His  Victim. 

nesses  to  Viola.  She  has  told  me  many  of  the  kind 
things  you  have  done  for  her." 

He  shook  Howard's  hand  and  let  it  go. 

"Good-by !"  Howard  said  huskily.  "I  hope  you  will 
be  successful/' 

He  turned  away  and  walked  swiftly  back  on  the 
road.  Walter  stood  watching,  and  trying  to  collect 
himself  more. 

"I  cannot  make  it  out/1  he  murmured.  "I  never  felt 
anything  like  it  before.  It  must  be  the  change  from 
sea  to  shore.  It  is  passing  away/' 

He  drew  himself  tip  as  if  he  would  drive  the  sensa- 
tion of  drowsiness  away  by  mere  force  of  will. 

"Now  I  am  better.  I  thought  I  would  drop  a  few 
moments  ago.  I  am  glad  he  went  back.  Somehow  I 
do  not  like  him.  I  had  to  thank  him  for  his  kindness, 
but  I  can't  help  feeling  that  his  mother  is  truer.  I  don't 
believe  he  cares  much  for  me,  either.  But  he  is  so 
much  older.  Older  men  often  dislike  younger  ones  just 
because  they  are  younger." 

He  stood  and  talked  to  himself  in  this  way  merely 
to  give  himself  time  to  collect  his  forces. 

He  knew  there  was  not  much  time  to  lose,  so  he 
forced  himself  to  start  on  toward  the  station. 

"I  am  better  all  the  time.  I  will  be  well  when  I 
reach  the  station." 

He  said  this  as  he  strode  fenvard  and  entered  the 


Luring  His  Victim.  239 

gloom  of  the  spot  where  the  trees  began,  and  near 
which  Peter  lurked. 

His  senses  were  too  enthralled  by  the  drug  that  had 
been  administered  to  him  to  enable  him  to  hear  the 
faint  rustling  of  the  leaves  that  followed  the  stealthy 
steps  of  Peter  as  he  nervously  changed  his  position. 

But  it  might  have  been  the  unconscious  perception 
of  evil  that  made  Walter  start  and  stop  when  he  had 
gone  a  few  paces  into  the  dark  woods. 

"How  gloomy!''  he  muttered.  "I  wonder  they  do 
not  put  lamps  at  such  dark  places  on  country  roads/' 

He  started  on  again. 

Peter  changed  his  hold  on  the  mattock  handle.  His 
hands  were  clammy  with  cold  perspiration.  He  had 
to  wipe  his  hands  dry  on  his  coat. 

Walter  reeled  a  little  as  he  walked,  for  his  head  was 
light ;  but  he  was  much  better  than  he  had  been.  The 
effects  of  the  drug  were  working  off. 

"A  queer  place  to  leave  a  stranger/"  he  muttered,  as 
he  strained  his  eyes  in  a  vain  attempt  to  see  some  light 
ahead.  "I  suppose  he  forgot  about  it,  or  is  so  used 
to  it  that  he  thinks  it  nothing/* 

He  had  come  to  the  tree  behind  which  Peter  lurked. 
He  stopped  there  to  try  once  more  to  clear  his  brain. 

Peter  hardly  breathed.  For  a  moment  he  fancied 
Walter  had  heard  some  sound  to  make  him  suspicious. 

He  had  been  able  to  detect  that  Walter  was  not 


240  Luring  His  Victim. 

walking  steadily,  but  he  had  not  been  able  to  tell  what 
the  extent  of  his  condition  was. 

He  waited  with  bated  breath  for.  Walter  to  move  on 
two  steps  farther.  He  felt  a  sort  of  ferocious  joy  in 
the  thought  that,  in  a  second  more,  perhaps,  the  deadly 
club  he  held  in  his  hands  would  be  crushing  into  Wal- 
ter's skull. 

Walter  took  the  step.  He  took  one  more.  Then  he 
heard  a  light,  rushing  sound  behind  him  and  turned 
half  round." 

Then  something  struck  him  on  the  head,  and  he  sunk 
on  one  knee.  He  heard  a  strangled  cry  of  fierce  joy, 
and  the  club  fell  again. 

He  tried  to  rise  to  his  feet,  holding  his  hands  above 
his  head  to  shield  it. 

"Help!  help!  help!"  he  cried. 

He  remembered  that  Howard  Beekman  could  not  be 
far  away,  and  it  seemed  possible  he  might  hear  and 
return. 

Peter  did  not  utter  a  word;  but  the  cries  of  Walter 
accelerated  his  movements ;  and  once  more  the  club  f ell. 


CHAPTER  XXXH. 

THE    BODY    BY    THE    ROADSIDE. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  blows  he  had  received,  perhaps 
the  drug  had  already  worked  off  its  effects. 

None  of  the  blows  struck  him  fairly  on  the  head. 
His  derby  hat  had  protected  him  somewhat,  and  Peter's 
lack  of  muscle  had  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

The  third  blow  struck  him  on  the  fleshy  part  of  the 
arm,  and  for  a  moment  he  thought  his  arm  was  broken. 

The  pain  did  him  good,  however,  for  it  brought 
back  his,. scattered  wits,  and  the  consciousness  came  to 
him  that  if  he  would  grapple  with  his  assailant  he  might 
conquer  him. 

Byt  he  must  put  him  off  his  guard,  if  possible.  These 
.thoughts  flew  like  lightning  through  his  brain,  and  ere 
Peter  cotfld  strike  another  blow,  Walter  had  fallen  like 
a  log  in  the  road.: 

A  panting  cry  of  rage  and  delight  came  from  the  lips 
of  Peter.  He  believed  he  had  stunned  Walter. 

He  wanted  to  see  if  his  victim  would  move.  If  he 
had  done  so,  the  club  would  have  been  brought  down 
mercilessly  on  his  head  again. 

But  Walter  lay  like  one  dead.  Peter  threw  his  club 
far  away,  and  it  could  be  heard  crashing  down  through 


242  The  Body  by  the  Roadside. 

the  branches  of  the  scrubby  growth  that  lined  the  face 
of  the  cliff. 

Peter  had  thrown  it  away,  because  he  could  not  hold 
it  and  drag  Walter  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

He  leaped  on  Walter  almost  as  he  threw  the  club 
away.  His  hands  closed  on  Walter's  shoulders.  Then 
he  felt  the  hands  of  Walter  leap  up  out  of  the  darkness 
and  clutch  him  by  the  throat 

Walter  was  at  a  disadvantage,  being  prostrate.  But 
Peter  was  taken  by  surprise,  and  before  he  could  think 
what  to  do,  Walter  had  thrown  him  off,  and  was  on  his 
knees. 

Then  Peter  realized  that  it  was  a  fight  for  life,  or 
more  than  life. 

Therefore  he  summoned  all  his  strength,  and  en- 
deavored to  force  Walter  back  again  to  the  earth,  with 
the  wild  hope  of  strangling  him. 

Walter  was  gripping  the  throat  of  his  assailant  witH 
a  hand  that  seemed  to  Peter  to  be  of  steel. 

It  flashed  through  his  brain  then  that  this  was  an- 
other of  the  ways  in  which  Walter  had  been  more 
favored  than  he — Walter  was  stronger. 

And  Walter  had  gained  his  feet  now.  His  head  was 
aching,  but  his  brain  was  clear,  and  the  ache  he  did  not 
think  of  then. 

Peter  was  losing  consciousness;  he  had  only  sense 
enough  not  to  betray  himself  by  crying  out  He  knew 


The  Body  by  the  Roadside.  2431 

instinctively  that  it  would  be  useless  for  him  to  try  to 
bring  Howard  back  now.  Howard  would  think  only 
of  his  own  safety. 

He  was  like  a  child  now  in  the  hands  of  Walter,  and 
the  gurgling  cry  of  a  strangling  man  rose  to  his  lips. 

"Mercy,  do  not  kill  me!" 

Walter  did  not  recognize  the  voice  and  did  not  heed 
the  appeal.  He  dared  not.  He  did  not  know  what 
weapons  the  wretch  might  have  at  his  command  if  once 
he  escaped. 

So  he  pressed  the  bony  throat  until  the  body  of 
Peter  sunk  limp  in  his  hands.  Then  he  let  him  drop 
slowly  to  the  earth,  but  watched  him  warily  in  the 
light,  which  would  barely  enable  him  to  see  at  all 

Peter  did  not  move,  and  Walter  could  tell  by  his 
feebly  beating  heart  that  there  was  not  much  life  left 
in  his  still  body. 

"I  hope  I  have  not  killed  him,'"  he  murmured,  in  an 
awe-stricken  tone.  "He  tried  to  take  my  life,  but  I 
don't  wish  his.  I  suppose  he  is  some  miserable  thief. 
What  shall  I  do  with  him?" 

He  knelt  there  for  a  few  moments,  trying  to  think 
what  disposal  he  should  make  of  him,  when  it  occurred 
to  him  that  if  he  did  not  hasten  he  would  lose  his 
train. 

"I  will  drag  him  to  the  roadside,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"Perhaps  he  is  a  poor  wretch  who  was  driven  to  his 


244  Tha   I'ociy   hv   (l\(*  'Roadside. 

crime.  lie  bad  hut  little  strength.  I  will,  look- at  his 
face.  If  it  is  that  of  a  thief,  I  will  speak  of  it  at  the 
station.  If  not,  I  will  let  him  revive  as,  he  can,  and  wit! 
say  nothing  about  it." 

He  picked  the  body  up  and  carried  it  to  the  roadside, 
where  he  laid  it  down  as  carefully  as  the  darkness 
would  permit. 

Then  he  fumbled  in  his  pocket  a&d  drew  out  his 
matcii  safe.  ' 

"Once  in  a  while/"  he  muttered;  "there  is  an   _ul- 
•  vantage  in  being  a  smoker."" 

lie  struck  a  match  as  "he  spoke,  and  bent  over,  the 
man.  He  started- in  dumb  incredulity  for  a  moment, 
then  gasped: 

"Peter  Harriets!  He  sought  my  life.  The  ,c:<>mi 
drel'." 

The  match  went  out  and  dropped  from  his  fingers. 
The  thoughts  were  coursing  each  other  in  his  brain. 

:  had  JPeter  Harriem  ventured  on  so  desperate  a 
deed?    Peter  Harriem  was  one  of  those  who  had  con- 
l  against  the  peace  and  happiness  of  Viola 

ioubt  he  wished  Viola  for  himself.  The  wretch, 
to  a  I'ne  so  high !  But  how  came  he  there  at  that  hour 
of  the  night? 

How  came  he  to  know  that  Walter  would  be  pass- 
ing there?  It  was  not  credible  thkt  it  wafc  a:  hie  re  acci- 
dent. 


The  .Body  -by  the  Roadside.  245 

Peter  moved,  and  Walter  bent  with  a  fierce  impulse 
to  seize  him  again  by  the  throat  and  finish  the  work  he 
had  begun. 

"He  is  not  fit  to  live,"  he  muttered.  Then  he  added 
contemptuously:  "But  I  shall  not  play  the  execu- 
tioner for  him.  Let  him  live.  He  shall  answer  to  me 
for  this." 

He  drew  his  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket — it  was 
a  large  silk  one — and  with  it  tied  the  hands  of  the 
prostrate  man  together  behind  him. 

Then  Walter  went  on  with  his  attempt  to  unravel 
the  mystery.  He  struck  another  match  and  looked  at 
Peter's  face.  It  was  plain  that  Peter  was  not  near 
consciousness. 

Walter  thought  of  his  . train.  And  almost  at  the 
same  moment  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  distant  whistle. 

"Lost  it/'  he  muttered,  and  resigned  himself  to 
studying  out  the  riddle,  of  Peter's  action. 

"If  he  tried  to  get  me  out^of  the  (way  he  must  have 
some  knowledge  of  where  Viola  is.  He  may  dislike 
me,  but  it  is  on  account  of  her  that  he  has  tried  to  do 
this.  I  wish  he  would  come  to  his  senses.  I  would 
make  him  talk." 

He  stood  still  thinking,  thinking.  Suddenly  he  made 
up  his  mind. 

"Yes,"  he  cried,  "I  will  do  it— I  will  return  with 
him'to  the  Beekmans'.  We  can  revive  him,  make  him 


246  The  Body  by  the  Roadside, 

tell  the  truth  on  penalty  of  being  turned  over  to  the 
law,  and  then  I  shall  know  where  Viola  is.  I  suppose 
this  wretch  had  a  spy  there  at  the  pier  when  I  landed. 
He  must  have  followed  me,  and  has  been  watching  me 
ever  since.  And  he  certainly  knows  where  Viola  is." 

By  this  time  Walter  was  conscious  of  the  pain  in  his 
head  from  the  blows  he  had  received. 

But  nothing  mattered  in  comparison  with  the  fact 
that  he  had  thought  of  a  way  of  solving  the  mystery 
about  Viola. 

He  leaned  over  and  picked  Peter  up.  There  was 
no  other  way  but  to  throw  him  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
might  a  sack  of  grain,  and  that  he  did. 

It  was  fortunate  now  that  Peter  was  so  gaunt.  If 
he  had  fed  himself  better  he  would  have  been  heavier 
for  Walter  to  carry. 

He  was  weight  enough  as  it  was,  and  more  than  once 
Walter  was  forced  to  stop  to  take  breath. 

But  there  was  no  thought  of  doing  anything  but  car- 
rying out  his  original  design.  He  would  have  done 
that  at  any  cost  now. 

At  last  the  lights  of  the  Beekman  mansion  shone 
out,  and  he  felt  that  he  would  soon  know  the  truth 

His  heart  beat  high  with  hope.  He  believed  that  he 
was  on  the  eve  of  a  discovery  wrhich  should  carry  joy 
and  happiness  to  the  heart  of  Viola,  as  well  as  to  his 
pwn. 


The  Body  by  the  Roadside.  247 

He  paused  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  to  take  breath, 
then  slowly  mounted  the  steps  with  his  burden  and 
rang  the  bell 

He  thought  of  nothing  but  that  he  would  soon  learn 
where  his  darling  was,  and  he  did  not  realize  what  a 
picture  he  made  with  that  uncanny  load  over  his  shoul- 
der, and  the  blood  from  his  wounds  staining  his  face. 

What  fate  was  it  that  brought  Howard  Beekman  to 
the  door? 

Was  it  that  he  had  been  starting  at  every  sound 
since  he  had  reached  home,  and  had  been  unable  to  bear 
the  suspense  of  letting  the  maid  go  to  the  door? 

It  was  he  who  stood  there  and  stared  at  Walter  as 
if  madness  were  visiting  his  brain. 

Then  a  horrified  scream  broke  from  his  lips,  and  he 
reeled  back,  fainting. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

REELING     IN      HORROR. 

Merr  may  cry  out  at  the  horror  of  a  sight,  but  they 
seldom  faint  unless  a  terrible  shock  is  received. 

Howard  Beekman  had  received  a  shock  which  he 
would  never  get  over < as  long  as  he  lived. 

He  had  passed  through  all  the  horrors  and  misery 
which  his  imagination  could  inflict  upon  him  already. 
He  had  suffered  tortures  of  conscience;  for  twist  and 
turn  as  he- would,  he  could  not  blind  himself  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  the  accomplice  of  a  murderer. 

It  had  required  all  his  self-control  to  keep  his  face 
from  betraying  to  his  mother  the  agony  of  his  soul. 
He  seemed  to  see  'blood  on  everything,  and  every  noise 
was  but -the  echo  of  the  blows  which  the  assassin  was 
dealing  out  to  the  innocent,  defenseless  victim. 

He  had  gone  to  the  door  only  because  he  was  unable 
to  bear  the  suspense  of  waiting  to  know  from  the  maid 
who  it  was  that  came  there. 

Then  he  had  been  confronted  by  the  awful  spectacle 
of  Walter,  with  bloodstained  face  and  disordered  ap- 
parel, bearing  on  his  shoulder  the  limp  body  of  a  man. 

In  his  breathlessness  from  his  exertions,  Walter  did 
not  speak  as  he  stood  there,  and  to  the  troubled  imagi- 


Reeling  in  Horror.  249 

nation  of  Howard  Beekman  what  he  saw  was  but  the 
wraith  of  the  murdered  man. 

It  was  that  horror  that  sent  him  reeling  in  a  swoon 
against  the  wall  and  made  his  wild  cry  sound  weirdly 
through  the  house. 

His  trembling  limbs  did  not  sink  under  him,  how- 
ever, and  when  his  mother  ran  into  the  hall  to  ascer- 
tain the  cause  of  his  frightful  cry,  he  was  opening  his 
eyes  to  stare  once  again  at  the  picture  framed  in  the 
doorway. 

By  this  time  Walter  had  .recovered  his  breath  and 
was  able  to  pant : 

_  "Am  I  so  frightful  to  look  at?  This  man  tried -to 
murder  me,  and  I  did  not  know  what  else  to  do  but  to 
bring  him  here.  It  vvras  necessary  to  take  him  some- 
where."- 

Mrs.  Beekman  was  speechless  with  horror,  but  the 
words  of  Walter  restored;  her  presence  of  mind  and 
enabled  her  to  say : 

"Your  face  is  covered  with  blood.  Come  in  and  let 
us  do  something  for  you.  Howard,  help  Mr.  Hard- 
man!" 

Howard  forced  himself  to  -  move  forward,  hardly 
able  to  get  over  his  first  shock,  yet  knowing  that  his 
very  salvation  depended  on  his  doing  something  to 
avert  discovery. 

"Let  me  take  tber— the  : wretch; rhe;  said;  ;  "I  :will 


250  Reeling  in  Horror. 

put  him  In  a  safe  place  while  mother  does  what  she 
can  for  you.  Are  you  much  hurt  ?" 

"My  head  is  bruised,  but  that  is  the  worst.  Do  not 
let  him  escape  from  you.  He  must  explain  many 
things." 

%'I  will  put  him  in  the  little  storeroom  upstairs, 
mother,"  said  Howard,  staggering  under  the  burden  as 
he  .approached  the  stairs. 

44i  will  send  one  of  the  men  to  assist  you,"  Mrs. 
Beekman  said. 

''No,  no!"  Howard  cried  hastily.  "I  think  it  will  be 
better  not  to  let  the  servants  know  of  this  unless  it  is 
necessary.  It  might  interfere  with  Mr.  Hardmarfs 
plans  in  regard  to  the  wretch." 

''!  do  not  know  that  it  will  make  *my  difference  in 
that  respect/'  Walter  said.  "Do  as  you  think  best." 

Mrs.  Beekman  led  him  tc  ^  room  upstairs,  and  then, 
with  the  skill  of  a  woman  who  has  lived  long  and  been 
useful,  she  examined  the  wcunds  on  his  head. 

"Your  scalp  is  bruised/'  she  said  at  last,  "but  I  have 
lotions  which  will  relieve  the  pain  and  keep  away  the 
ache  to-morrow.  You  should  go  to  bed  at  once,  how- 
ever." 

"Xot  until  I  have  talked  with  the  miscreant  who  tried 
to  take  my  life,"  Walter  said  firmly. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  lady  dubiously,  "I  will  bathe 
and  bind  up  your  wounds,  and  will  let  you  talk  a  little 


Reeling  in  Horror.  251 

with  the  man,  but  after  that  you  must  take  a  sleeping 
potion  and  retire." 

"I  will  do  as  you  say  when  I  have  learned  what  he 
has.  to  tell  me — what  he  must  tell  me." 

"You  know  him,  then?"  Mrs.  Beekman  said  inquir- 
ingly. 

"Yes,  I  know  him,"  Walter  answered. 

"Is  he  some  person  who  has  reason  to  do  you  harm?" 
she  asked. 

She  had  a  natural  curiosity  to  know  what  the  rela- 
tions of  the  two  were,  yet  did  not  like  to  ask  outright. 

"I  suppose  he  thinks  that  by  getting  rid  of  me  he 
wiTl  be  better  able  to  carry  out  his  foul  plot  against 
Viola." 

"Viola!"  cried  the  old  lady.  "What  has  she  to  do 
with  this?" 

"She  is  the  victim  of  his  wiles,"  Walter  replied.  "He 
knows  where  she  is." 

Mrs.  Beekman  started  and  stared  at  Walter. 

"Why  do  you  think  he  knows?"  she  asked. 

She  was  moving  about,  waiting  on  Walter  as  they 
talked. 

"I  will  tell  you,  Mrs.  Beekman,  for  I  know  that  you 
are  true  and  good.  The  truth  is,  that  that  scoundrel 
is  my  father's  right-hand  man." 

"Surely  you  do  not  suspect  your  father  of  any  com- 
plicity in  thte  horrible  attempt?"  she  cried. 


252  Re^li-ng  m  Horror- 

Walter  smiled. 

"Certainly  not.  My  father  adores  me,  and  would  as 
soon  think  of  taking  his  own  life  as  of  injuring  me 
in  the  slightest.  But  I  suspect  this  fellow  of  working 
against  Viola  because  my  father  wishes  to  prevent  the 
marriage.  And  as  he  loves  Viola,  I  do  not  doubt  that 
he  has  tried  to  murder  me  to  get  me  out  of  the  way, 
knowing  that  while  I  live,  Viola  will  not  listen  to  him." 

"Nor  would  she  afterward!"  Mrs.  Beekman  said, 
with,  horror. 

"He  probably  does  not  believe  that.  Anyhow,  he 
tried  to  murder  me,  and  I  reason  from  it  that  he  knows 
where  Viola  is." 

It  was  on  Mrs.  Beekman's  tongue  to  reveal  the  truth 
about  Viola  to  Walter;  but  something  she  could  not 
then  understand  restrained  her. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  she  asked. 

She  believed  she  could  learn  from  the  circumstances 
facts  that  might  be  hidden  from  Walter. 

"He  was  waiting  for  me  in  a  dense,  thick  wood  just 
beyond  where  your  son  left  me." 

MAnd  you  did, not  hear  him  approach  you?"  she 
asked. 

"Not  until  he  was  near  me;  and  then  I  was  so  stupid 
from  a  strange  attack  of  drowsiness  that  it  needed  his 
first  blow  to  restore  my  senses/' 


Reeling  it*  Horron  253 

^Drowsiness!"  she.  exclaimed  curiously-,  staring  at 
tiim-.  " f D i d ;  y o u  feel  it  w h e 1 1  y o it  1  e f t  1 1 ere-.?' ' 

"No,  it  cattie  on  after  I  was  outside  for.  a  white.  At 
one  time  I  thought  I  should  sink  to  the  road  It  prob- 
ably, was  due  to  the  change  from  shipboard  to  land/' 

"I  wonder  that  Howard  left  you/'  she  said,  rather 
to  herself  than  to  him.  "Did  he  know  you  felt  so?'5 

"I  felt  better  when  he  left  me/'  Walter  answered. 

"Drowsy!"  murmured  Mrs.  Beekrn^n  "That  is  not 
the  way  one  is  affected  after  a  voyage.  You  are  dizzy, 
perhaps,  and  you  feel,  the  motion  as  of  the  vessel  under 
your  feet.  But  that  is  all  1  ever  heard  -of.  You  drank 
no  wine  at  dinner?" 

"No,,  I  drank  no  wine/"  he  answered.  "Though  I 
did  take  a  glass  of  brandy  at  your,  son's  urgent  request 
just  before  I  went  out.  Dp  you  remember  ?M 

"I  was  not  in  the  room -at  the  time/'  she  replied,  in 
a  low  tone. 

Her  brain  was  busy  analyzing  what  Walter  had  told 
her.  It  Has  already  been  seen  what  a  keen  mind  she 
had  for  sifting  evidences. 

••She  puzzled  over  this,  hardly  knowing  what  she  was 
doing,  until  a  white,  distressed  expression1  crept  'over 
her  face. 

'T  must  :speak  With  Howard/'  she1  said  to  herself. 
"Of  course  he  will  explain  how  it  happened.  But  it 
haunts  me/' 


254  Reeling  in  Horror. 

"Did  you  speak  to  me?"  Walter  asked. 

She  started. 

"No,  no!  I  was  thinking  of  the  strangeness  of  the 
case.  So  you  think  this  man  knows  where  Viola  is. 
Why  do  you  feel  so  sure  of  it?" 

"It  was  through  him,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  accu- 
sation of  theft  came.  I  am  sure  of  that — just  as  sure 
as  if  I  had  known  his  thoughts.  He  and  Eunice  Car- 
roll have  done  it  between  them." 

"I  think  there  is  no  doubt  of  that/'  Mrs.  Beekman 
said. 

"Then  Viola  disappeared  suddenly  and  mysteriously 
from  your  house.  It  was  very  unlike  her.  She  would 
have  told  you  she  was  going  if  she  had  had  the  chance/1 

"You  think  she  was  abducted?"  said  the  old  lady, 
wondering  how  far  his  reasoning  would  lead  him  to- 
ward the  truth. 

The  thing  she  was  certain  of  was  that  whether  his 
reasoning  led  him  or  not.  lie  should  know  that  Viola 
was  under  the  same  roof  as  he  that  night. 

'T  do  not  doubt  it.  And  now  I  am  sure  that  she  was 
abducted  at  the  instigation  of  Peter  Harriem.  I  ani 
sure,  too,  that  she  is  still  somewhere  in  this  neigh- 
borhood.1' 

"Why  do  you  think  that?"  she  asked. 

"Because  this  wretch  was  here  to  prevent  me  seeing 


Reeling  in  Horror.  255 

her.  He  had  followed  me  here,  and  feared  I  would  dis- 
cover the  truth,  hence  the  attack  on  me." 

It  flashed  through  Mrs.  Beekman's  mind  that  his  rea- 
soning, if  correct,  must  imply  that  the  scoundrel  knew 
that  Viola  was  underneath  her  roof. 

And  if  he  knew  that,  how  did  he  learn  it?  What 
must  she  think?  She  turned  away  and  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  heart. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  must  relieve  herself  of  her  trou- 
ble by  saying  at  once  to  Walter  that  Viola  was  in.  the 
house. 

She  turned  with  the  words  on  her  tongue,  but  hesi- 
tated when  she  saw  the  pallor  of  his  face. 

"He  is  not  fit  to  bear  it  yet,"  she  murmured.  "'Be- 
sides he  is  keen,  and  the  same  thoughts  might  flit 
through  his  head  as  have  seared  their  way  through 
mine.  I  will  wait  until  later.  I  will  give  him  some- 
thing now  to  revive  him,  so  that  he  will  have  strength 
for  his  interview  with  his  would-be  murderer." 

She  went  over  to  the  medicine  chest,  which  contained 
the  cordials  and  drugs,  and  lifted  the  lid. 

""Somebody  has  been  at  this,'1  she  murmured,  and 
began  to  run  her  eye  over  the  vials  with  keen  scrutiny. 

A  deathly  pallor  suddenly  leaped  into  her  face,  and 
she  tottered  back.  A  low  moan  fell  from  her  lips,  and 
she  took  one  vial  out  of  its  place. 


Reeling  in  Horror, 

"Is  anything  the  matter?-'  Walter  asked,  with  quiefe 
apprehension. 

"A  pain  in  my  heart,"  she  answered,  with  trembling- 
lips.  <4It — it  sometimes  comes.  It — -it  is  gone  now/' 

He  accepted  her  explanation  and  was  silent.  She  ex- 
amined the  vial  with  close  scrutiny. 

"This  has  been  used  from,"  she  murmured  miser- 
ably. "A  few  drops  of  this  in  a  glass  of  brandy  would 
cause  one  to  act  just  as  our  guest  did.  Oh,  merciful 
Heaven!  can  it  be  that  my  boy  in  his  mad  infatuation 
for  Viola  has  been  guilty  of  this  terrible  crime? 
Heaven  help  me !  What  shall  I  do?" 

"I  am  feeling  better  now,"  Walter  said.  "I  think  I 
will  ""go 'see  my  prisoner  and  extort  the  truth  from 
him.  ' 

"You — you  are  not  strong  enough,"  she  stammered. 
"He  may  not  have  revived  yet. '? 

"As  you  please,"  Walter  acquiesced,  sinking  back  in 
his  seat.  "But  if  he  has  recovered  I  must  see  him  to- 
night. I  could  not  rest  knowing  that  I  am  so  near 
discovery." 

"You  shall  see  him  to-night,"  she  said,  and  hastened 
from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

MISERY     IN      HIS     BREAST. 

While  Mrs.  Beekman,  with  growing  horror  and  mis- 
cry,  was  groping  her  way  to  the  awful  truth  about  her 
son,  the  latter  had  been  busied  with  Peter. 

He  had  felt  some  signs  of  life  in  him  when  he  took 
him  on  his  shoulder,  so  he  quickly  deposited  him  on  a 
long  box  in  the  storeroom,  and  hastened  to  his  own 
room  for  a  bottle  of  brandy. 

When  he  returned,  he  poured  as  much  as  he  could  of 
the  liquor  down  the  throat  of  the  unconscious  man. 

The  effect  was  almost  immediate.  Peter  started  up 
as  if  liquid  fire  had  coursed  through  his  veins. 

His  first  thought  was  that  he  was  still  in  the  darlc 
woods  with  the  hands  of  Walter  pressing  his  throat, 
and  he  began  a  strangled  scream. 

Howard  clapped  his  hand  over  the  other's  lips  and 
begged  him  to  desist. 

"In  the  name  of  Heaven,  make  no  noise,"  he  said, 
"We  have  but  a  few  moments  to  consider  a  means  of 
escape  from  the  awful  plight  you  have  gotten  us  into. 
Do  you  understand  me?  It  is  I,  Howard  Beekman, 
who  is  speaking/" 

"Ugh!"  murmured  Pctrr   feeling  o^f  his  throat  with 


258  Misery  In  His  Breast. 

his   i   :;.      bony   fingers.      "I   thought   it   was   Walter. 
YVhai  have  you  done  with  him?     Did  you  throw  him' 
over  the  cliff?" 

"Fool!"  groaned  Howard,  in  a  tremor  of  fear. 
"You  are  his  prisoner.  He  brought  you  to  this  house 
to  keep  you  a  prisoner." 

"A  prisoner!"  gasped  Peter.  "Let  me  go.  He  is 
not  here  now.  Let  me  escape!  If  he  gets  me  into  the 
hands  of  the  law,  I  am  lost,  and  you  are,  too,"  he 
added,  with  a  savage  snarl. 

"I  cannot  let  you  go,"  Howard  said.  "I  should  be 
suspected.  We  must  think  of  some  other  way.  Don't 
you  understand?  He  is  going  to  interrogate  you  about 
Viola.  You  must  bear  with  it  and  think  of  some  way 
of  deceiving  him/' 

"Stay  here  to  go  to  prison?"  snarled  Peter,  trying -i 
to  push  past  Howard.     "Do  you  think  I  am  a  fool?    If 
I  am  taken,  I  swear  I  will  implicate  you/' 

"As  well  that  as  to  be  suspected  by  letting  you 
escape,"  Howard  s?.id  doggedly.  "'Can't  you  listen  to 
reason?  We  have  but  a  few  minutes."' 

Peter  steadied  his  nerves  by  an  effort  and  reviewed, 
the  situation  quickly.    It  looked  as  if  exposure  was  cer- 
tain to  overtake  him,  in  any  event.     The  only  thing  to 
do  was  to  escape  with  as  little  punishment  as  possible. 

He  was  not  troubled  by  scruples  about  his  compan- 


Misery  in  His  Breast.  259 

ion  in  crime.     He  considered  only  how  to  get  himself 
out  of  trouble. 

He  asked  himself  what  good  it  would  do  him  to  run 
away  then.  He  saw  that  he  would  be  an  outcast  at 
once,  and  would  be  unable  to  accomplish  any  of  his 
ends. 

To  save  something,  and  as  much  as  possible,  from 
the  wreck  was  his  thought.  A  subtle,  cunning  plan 
flashed  into  his  brain  suddenly. 

"I  will  remain  and  bear  his  examination/'  he  said 
quickly,  "but  during  the  night  I  must  escape.  Can  you 
arrange  that?  There  must  be  some  way  that  will  not 
implicate  you/' 

"I  will  bring  you  a  screw  driver,"  Howard  said. 
"With  it  you  can  unscrew  the  lock,  which,  you  see,  is 
on  this  side  of  the  door.  Then  you  can  get  out  when 
you  will." 

"That  is  right.  I  will  protect  you  in  my  story.  He 
cannot  suspect  you." 

"Yet  we  have  lost  our  game,"  Howard  said  gloomily. 
"Why?     You  are  as  well  off  as  ever." 
"No,"  answered  Howard.     "My  mother  will  surely 
tell  him  now  that  Viola  is  in  the  house." 

"She  must  not,"  Peter  said.  "If  he  meets  Viola, 
and  learns  from  her  what  I  have  done  to  her,  he  will 
kill  me.  If  he  meets  her  before  I  have  escaped,  I  swear 


260  Misery  in  His  Breast. 

I  will  betray  you.  -"'You  must  persuade,  your  mother 
to  keep  the  secret  until  the  morning" 

"I  will  if  I  can/'  Howard  murmured,  his  face  ghostly 
at  the  thought  of  being  exposed 

"It   is  not   if  you  can,"   hissed   Peter  venomously, 
"you  must" 
j       "I  will  do 'my  utmost/*  Howard  said. 

"Now  get  me  the  screw  driver/'  said  Peter, 

Howard  glided  swiftly  away  and  returned  in  a  few 
moments  with  the  tool  in  question.  *  r 

"Put  it  where  I  can  get  it,  and  then  tie  my  hands 
again/'  Peter  said.  "If  you  tie  thetu  I  shall  have  nx* 
difficulty  in  releasing  myself.  Be  s^re  to  prevail  on 
your  mother  to  keep  the  secret  until  the  morning,  Per- 
'!haps  then  I  may  he  abfe  to  think  of  some  way  by  which 
you  can  obtain  the  beautiful  Viola  after  all"  4 

"I  will  plot  no-more/'  Howard  said,  with  a  shudder. 
"Heaven  forgive  me  for  what  I- have  already  done.     I;: 
will  do  no  more  evil.     I  think  I  was  mad  when  I 
yielded/' 

Peter  smiled  inwardly  as  he  thought  how  'useless,  a 
crime  it  would  have  been  for  his  dupe. 

"Just  as  you  please  about  that,"  he  said.  "Some- 
body is  coming:  It  is  your  mother,  I  think.  I  do  not 
hear  his-  step." 

Mrs, -Beekman,  pale  but  stern  and  with  burning  eyes/ 
I  fcntered  the  roonv  and  looked  at  the  prisoner. 


Misery  in  -His  Breast.  261 

p,,:S,h^.  studied  his  sneaking,  furtive  manner,  and  no- 
ticed his  whole  mean  and  vicious  appearance..,  Then 
,she  turned  to  Howard  and  saich  •  ;i  - 

"He  is  recovered.  Shut  the  door  and  come  with  me. 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you/' 

It  seemed  to  the  guilty  man  that  his  mother  had  dis-* 
covered  everything,  and  his  soul  quailed  within  him,  a& 
guilt  will  quail  before  honesty  and  high  purpose. 
,  He. did  as  she  bade  him,  exchanging  one  furtive 
glance  of  dismay  with  Peter,  whose  eyes  conveyed  a 
threat.  •  \ 

'The  old  lady  suspects,"  was  the  thought  that  flashed 
through  the  brain  of  the  cunning  wretch.  ""He  will 
have  a  hard  time  to  persuade  her  to  keep  the  secret. 
Well,  I  will  not  be  outwitted  without  a  struggle.  I 
only  hope  some  one  will  come  with  Walter  to  keep  himr 
from  violence." 

Howard  followed  his  mother  into  his  own  room, 
rwhi;ch  she  selected,  because  it  .was  the  nearest.  She 
closed  the  door  after  he  had  entered. 

He  did  not  speak.  .      ; 

It  was  plain  from  her  manner  that  some  suspicion 
was  in  her;  mind,  but  he  could  not  tell  how  much. 

Oh,  how  he  wished  in /that  moment  of  suspense  that 
he  had  never  fallen  to  the  depths  of  sin  and  crime,  from 
whida  he  now  saw  no  way  .of  escaping. 

/'Howard^'  said  the  good  old  lady,  her  gride  for- 


202  Misery  in  His  Breast. 

*aking  her  then,  "what  have  you  done?  Oh,  my  boy! 
you  who  have  been  my  pride,  my  stay,  and  comfort  all 
these  years !  tell  me  that  you  are  not  guilty.  Tell 
me  that  I  am  misled  by  a  hideous  appearance  of  com- 
plicity that  does  not  in  reality  exist.  Howard!  speak!" 

He  turned  away  with  such  misery  in  his  breast  as 
had  never  been  there  before.  He  had  sinned  and 
plotted,  and  t-he  end  was  that  his  mother  had  found 
him  out,  and  would  go  down  to  her  grave  despising 
him. 

"Mother,  I  loved  her/'  was  all  he  could  say. 

"I  know — I  know,"  she  faltered.  "Love  will  make 
a  man  do  many  things.  But  this  was  murder,  How- 
ard !  Oh,  Heaven,  that  I  should  live  to  say  it !'' 

He  saw  that  she  either  knew  or  suspected  every- 
thing. 

"It  did  not  succeed,"  he  said  miserably. 

"But  it  was  in  your  heart,"  she  moaned. 

"I  was  insane,"  he  said.  "Mother,  I  am  as  thankful 
ias  you  that  it  did  not  succeed.  I  should  have  gone 
mad  had  it  been  done.  That  man  tempted  me.  I  can- 
not shift  the  burden  of  my  sin  on  him,  but  it  is  all  I 
have  to  say." 

"He  tempted  you  that  he  might  make  use  of  you. 
Had  he  succeeded  in  his  awful  purpose,  Howard,  he 
would  have  laughed  at  you,  and  would  have  gone  on 
plotting  that  he  might  win  Viola  himself/' 


Misery  in  His  Breast. 

''He!''  cried  Howard,  with  a  start.  "Why,  he  is  but 
the  agent  of  Eunice  Carroll/' 

"The  agent  of  Eunice  Carroll!"  repeated  the  old 
lady  sadly.  "Oh,  how  you  have  been  beguiled!  Do 
you  imagine  that  Eunice  Carroll  would  wish  to  murder 
the  man  she  loves  and  has  plotted  crime  to  win?" 

"Who  is  he,  then?"  Howard  cried. 

"He  is  Peter  Harriem,  who  in  everything  seeks  only 
to  get  that  poor  girl  in  his  clutches.  He  has  been  using 
you.  Oh,  Howard !" 

"Peter  Harriem !"  murmured  Howard,  realizing  at 
once  how  he  had  been  duped  and  played  with. 

"Xo  other  than  he,"  she  said.  "Now,  Howard,  help 
to  undo  all  that  you  have  done.  Frankly  and  humbly 
give  up  your  hope  of  winning  her  from  her  true  lover, 
and  if  there  be  anything  to  tell  that  I  do  not  know,  let 
me  hear  it  from  your  lips." 

Howard  reflected  on  his  compact  with  Peter.  It  was 
plain  enough  that  to  the  last  Peter  was  plotting  further 
ruin  for  him. 

"I  will  tell  you  everything,  mother,"  he  said.  "Try 
to  forgive  me  for  what  I  have  done,  and  on  my  part 
I  will  spend  my  life  in  atonement." 

"My  poor  boy!"  faltered  the  mother,  ever  ready  to 
forgive  the  child  of  her  bosom. 

"I  will  give  up  Viola,"  he  said.  "I  had  already  re- 
solved an  that.  My  passion  is  cured  by  the  awful  sin 


264  Misery  in  His  Breast 

that  has  been  brought  home  to  me.     I  hope,  she,  ^ilt  b« 
restored  to  him  who  loves  her  and  deserves  the  re-' 
.  .ward  of  her  love  " 

.  "Ah!  it  atones  for  much  to  say  these  things,  How- 
ard.    Is  there  anything  I  should  know?" 

"But  one  thing:     Peter  Harriem  threatened  to  ex- 
pose me  if  I  did  not  persuade  you  to  keep  the  presence 
of  Viola  a  secret  from  Walter  Hardman  until  morn- 
1  ing." 

"Why  did  he  wish  that?"  she  demanded  quickly. 
"I  do  not  know." 

"I  wonder  he  did  not  demand  to  be  released/'  she 
j  said. 

"I  was  afraid  to  let  him  go  lest  I  should  be  sus- 
pected  of  complicity.     So  he  agreed  to  remain  on  con- 
I  dition  that  Viola's  presence  here  was  kept  from  Walter 
juntil  morning." 

The  old  lady  pondered  that  a  while,  and  then  said 
abruptly ; 

"And  he  was  willing  to  remain  a  prisoner  and  go  to 
jail  in  the  morning  if  you  agreed  to  that?" 

"Oh,  no!     I  was  to  release  him  during  the  night. 
|  Or,  rather,  I  have  given  him  a  screw  driver  so  that 
he  may  let  himself  out  and  escape." 

Again  the  old  lady's  keen  brain  pondered  the  matter, 
|  and  something  like  the  truth  came  to  her. 

"I  think  I  understand/*  sfie  ifci<t  "But  I  will  spoil 


Misery  in  His  Breast.  265 

;  his  plot.  And  yet,  for  your  sake,  he  must  go  free. 
There  is  no  need  that  Mr.  Hardman  should  know  what 
you  have  done." 

"I  had  hoped  so,"  he  said  humbly. 

^No,  there  is  no  need,"  she  said. 


,    CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"HE     HAS     STOLEN      HER." 

"What  will  you  do,  mother?''  Howard  asked. 

"I  will  go  to  Mr.  Hardman  and  tell  him  frankly  that 
we  had  had  reason  to  suspect  his  intentions  toward 
Viola,  and  that  for  that  reason  we  had  not  told  him 
the  truth  in  regard  to  her." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Howard,  with  a  look  of  shame,  "I 
should  tell  you  something  more." 

"Tell  me  everything  that  wrill  be  of  service,"  she 
said. 

"When  Viola  disappeared  from  here  she  was  not 
arrested  and  taken  to  prison,  as  she  supposed.  That 
was  but  a  pretense.  The  men  were  vile  wretches,  who 
impersonated  officers  of  the  law.  The  place  they  took 
her  to  was  only  a  private  house  they  had  hired  for  the 
purpose." 

"And  you  knew  this,  Howard?"  she  said  reproach- 
fully. 

"I  did  not  know  it  until  I  had  been  to  New  York  and 
had  seen  Eunice  Carroll,  whose  scheme  it  was.  She 
told  me  of  it  in  order  that  I  might  make  use  of  the  op- 
portunity to  win  Viola." 

"And  you  have  been  playing  a  part  ever  since  Viola 
feame  back?"  she  said. 


"He  Has  Stolen  Her/'  267 

"I  have  been  playing  a  part/1  he  answered  sorrow- 
fully. 

"Ah;  well!"  she  murmured,  "we  will  make  a  happy 
ending  for  it  to-night.  Do  not  go  near  that  wretch 
again.  I  will  go  to  Walter  -Hardmau  and  tell  him  the 
good  news." 

"You  will  not  implicate  me;  mother?" 

"He  shall  know  nothing  about  your  part  in  it." 

Walter  had  been  waiting  impatiently  for  the  return 
of  Mrs.  Beekman,  and  started  up  when  she  entered  the 
room. 

"I  am  ready  now,"  he  said,  "to  interview  that  wretch. 
•I  feel  quite  like  myself." 

"I  wish  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  first,"  she  said. 
"Please -sit  down." 

He  reseated  himself  reluctantly,  looking  impatiently 
fat  her  for  an  explanation  of  her  words. 

"Is  it  something  important?"  he  asked. 

"Very  important,"  she  answered,  with  a  cmile,  for  it 
rejoiced  her  to  think  of  reuniting  and  making  happy 
two  such  true  lovers.  "Viola  has  told  me  of  you." 

"Then  Viola  has,  after  all,  talked  of  me  to  you?1*  he 
queried. 

"She  has  done  little  else  since  a  certain  event,  of 
which  I  will  now  tell  you.  And  I  must  say  again  that 
what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  now  I  would  have  told 
you  before  you  left  the  house  this  evening,  but  for  a 


268  "He  Has  Stolen  <  Her." 

desire  to  be  overcautious.    .Viola  is  clear  to  me—  a 
as  a  child  of  my  own." 

Walter  glanced  quickly  at  the  old  lady,  and  a  sud- 
den color  swept  up  into  his  cheeks,  while  his  lips  parted 
as  if  eager  to  ask  a  question. 

"Question  me,  then,"  the  old  lady  said,  with  a  cer- 
tain glad  ring  in  her  voice  that  made  him  cry  out: 

"You  know  where  she  is?" 

"•I  do." 

*'Is  she — is  she — oh,  relieve  my  suspense !  is  she  in 
this  house?" 

Mrs.  Beekman  moved  quickly  over  to  his  side,  and 
answered  with  an  -outburst  of  joy  : 

"She  is  in  this  house." 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  his  face  radiant  with  happi- 
ness. 

"She  knows  I  am  here  ?"  : 

"She  knows  nothing  about  it.  She  is  hidden  here 
because  .we  feared  for  her  safety.  Even  the  servants 
in  the  house  ar;e  ignorant  of  her  presence  here." 

/"How  good  you  are !  Oh,  take  me  to  her !  I  cannot 
wait  an  instant  longer.  Ah  !  now  I;. understand  why 
that  miscreant  tried  to  murder  me.  Perhaps  he  be- 
lieved I  had  seen  her  and  was  only  going  away  for  a 
little  while.  But  take  me  to  her." 

"Would  it.not  be  better  to  prepare ^er  ?"  the  old  lady 
asked  doubtfully. 


"He  Has  Stolen  Her."  269 

"If  you  think  it  best;  though  they  say  JQy  never 
kills.  Go  to  her,  but  hasten.  I  will  stand  at  the  door 
land  await  your  call.'1 

"Yes,  yes;  I  will  go." 

"Warn  her  of  the  bandages- on  my  head;  May  I  riot 
take  off  the -hideous  things?  My;  head  is  so,  much 
better." 

"Such  vanity!"  she  laughed-     "Well,  I  do  not  see : 
why  you  should  not.    And  there!  make  yourself  took  a 
little  more  presentable  while  I  go.     You  will  be  able  -. 
to  hear  my  call.    How  happy  I  am !" 

"Heaven  bless  you!"  cried  Walter. 

She  went  quickly  away,  and  he  turned,  to  the  mir- 
ror to  adjust  his  collar  and  tie,  and  to  brush  his  hair. 

All  -had'beeri  in  disorder  before,  but  he  had  not  cared. 
Now  it  seemed  trivial,  but  it  was  something  to  do. 

He  was  in  the  act  of  brushing  his  hair  as  wdl  as  he 
could,  when  there  fell  on  his  ears  a  cry  of  terror  and 
dismay. 

He  ran  to  the  door  and  heard  it  repeated,  coupled 
with  hurrying  footsteps.  He  saw  Mrs.  Beekman  hur- 
rying toward  him  and  ran  to  meet  -her. 

"Sire  is  gone!"  she  said.     "She  is  n6t  here!"    ! 

As  she  spoke  she  snatched  open  the  door  of  the  store- 
room and  looked  in. 

'  "He1  i's  gone,  too.    He  has  stolen  tier  away  f.-" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A    BOLD    DEED. 

Keen-witted  and  always  alert  for  the  worst,  Peter 
Harriem  had  seen  in  the  face  of  Mrs.  Beekman  that 
she  suspected  much. 

A  glance  at  her  stern,  troubled,  yet  noble  face,  had 
told  him  that  she  might  be  merciful  to  one  repentant, 
but  inexorable  to  one  who  persevered  in  villainy. 

"She  will  get  him  away,  and  he  will  be  putty  in  her 
hands/'  he  muttered  to  himself,  gnawing  his  lip  as  she 
spoke. 

He  knew  that  if  Howard  Beekman  revealed  what  he 
knew  there  would  be  short  shrift  for  him. 

In  the  consciousness  of  his  danger  he  did  not  stop 
to  reason  it  out,  but  instantly  cast  off  the  handkerchief 
with  which  his  hands  were  tied. 

"I  must  think  and  act  quickly/'  he  muttered.  ''They 
think  they  have  me  cornered.  They  forget  that  a  cor- 
nered rat  is  always  the  most  dangerous.  I  have  every- 
thing to  gain,  and  nothing  to  lose.  But  what — what  ?" 

He  caught  up  the  screw  driver  Howard  had  given 
him  and  attacked  the  door,  his  mind  working  as  his 
b^.nds  did. 

Like  lightning  his  thought  flew  all  around  the  subject 


A  Bold  Deed.  271 

of  his  danger,  and  now  and  again  it  would  take  a  leap 
off  to  one  side. 

In  one  of  these  leaps  aside,  so  to  speak,  he  recalled 
that  Mrs.  Beekman  had  had  something  in  her  hand 
when  she  entered,  and  that  she  had  mechanically  laid  it 
on  one  of  the  boxes. 

He  turned  his  head  to  see  what  it  was,  but  could 
not,  and  murmured  to  himself : 

"I  will  look  when  this  is  done.  The  first  thing  is 
to  make  my  escape  easy.  I  must  not  wait  for  Walter 
to  find  me  here." 

So  he  worked  with  astonishing  celerity  at  the  lock 
and  presently  had  it  off  the  door. 

ikNow  I  can  go.  I  do  not  know  how  much  time  I 
have,  but  I  can  surely  escape.  Fools!  they  shall  not 
trap  me  this  time.  What  was  that  she  brought  in 
here?" 

It  seemed  strange  that  his  mind  should  revert  to  an 
apparently  unimportant  matter  like  that,  but  his  was  a 
mind  that  neglected  nothing. 

He  sprang  over  to  the  box  where  he  had  seen  her 
deposit  the  article  in  question.  It  was  a  small  vial. 

He  snatched  it  up  and  held  it  so  that  he  could  read 
what  was  on  it.  As  he  did  so,  he  uttered  an  oath  of 
anger. 

"This  is  how  she  caught  him.  This  is  what  he 
used  to  put  in  the  liquor  he  gave  Walter.  Yes,  I  must 


272  A  Bold  Deed. 

go,  indeed.  I  suppose  he  can  turn  State's  evidence  and 
go  free  while  I  am  sent  up  for  years.  No,  no !  I  won't 
take  that  chance." 

He  opened  the  door  softly  and  peered  out  into  the 
hall.  It  was  deserted  and  offered  him  a  clear  way  to 
escape. 

He  was  stealing  out,  when  a  sudden  idea  struck  him 
and  made  him  pause,  while  a  hideous,  malignant  scowl 
distorted  his  features. 

"Why  not  ?"  he  muttered.  "As  well  for  an  old  sheep 
as  for  a  young  lamb.  In  this  case,  however,  it  is  the 
young  lamb.  I  will  try,  though  I  get  my  death  in 
doing  it." 

He  glided  back  into  the  storeroom  and  snatched  up 
the  vial. 

Then,  with  the  swiftness  of  a  well-defined  purpose, 
he  stole  along  the  hall  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs. 

"I  am  sure  this  is  the  way,'7  he  muttered. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  he  stopped  and  listened  and 
peered  about  him. 

"Straight  ahead  and  then  to  the  right,"  he  muttered. 
"There  can  be  no  mistake.  Aha,  Walter  Hardman! 
it  may  be  my  turn,  after. #11.  And  I  have  some  wires 
to  pull  yet." 

He  went  swiftly  in  the  direction  he  had  laid  out 
for  himself,  and  presently  h^i  the  satisfaction  of  see- 


A  Bold  DeecL  2^3 

ing  a  faint  ray  of  light/streaming  under  a  door  near 
him.  ..,  •  ;  • 

He  glided  like  a  snake  toward  the  cloor  and  listened. 
He  could  hear  a  faint  movement  within.  Softly  he 
tried  the  door.  It  was  ".locked  on  the  inside. 

He  .knew  that  every  moment  was  precious. 

Howto  bring  Viola  to  the  door  the  most  quickly 
and  with  the  least  noise. 

He  glanced  at  the  vial,  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
as  if  it  were  a  precious  thing.;  Then  he  gave  a  soft 
but  assured  tap. 

"Is  that  you,  Mrs.  Beekman?"  said  the  soft,  sweet 
voice  of  Viola;  and  then,  without  waiting  for  a  re-? 
sporise,  she  began  to  unlock  the  door. 

Peter  stepped  back  and  waited.  Everything  de- 
pended on  the  quickness  of  his  movements  now. 

The  door  opened  and  Viola  looked  wonderingly  out. 
The  light  she  had  been  in  prevented  her  seeing  in  the 
dark  where  Peter  had  withdrawn  himself. 

"1  must  have  been  mistaken,"  she  murmured.  "I 
suppose  I  am  so  anxious  to  have  her  come  I  imagined 
she  knocked." 

She  turned  as  she  closed  the  door,  a  sigh  of  weari- 
ness escaping  her  lips. 

Then  was  the  moment  for  Peter  to  act,  and  he 
did  so. 


2?4  A  Bold  Deed. 

He  leaped  through  the  door  and  caught  her  around 
the  neck,  so  that  nothing  but  a  choking  cry  escaped  her. 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him  with  a  movement  of 
his  foot,  and  with  his  teeth  uncorked  the  vial  he  held 
in  his  hand. 

In  another  moment  he  had  drawn  her  head  back,  and 
reckless  of  the  danger  to  her,  poured  the  contents  of 
the  vial  on  her  lips. 

Fortunately  for  her  life,  but  little  of  the  drug  really 
entered  her  mouth  and  trickled  down  her  throat,  or 
her  death  would  have  been  instantaneous. 

She  swallowed  enough,  however,  for  it  to  take  effect, 
and,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to  retain  her  conscious- 
ness, she  sunk  lifeless  in  his  arms. 

Pale  and  with  panting  breath,  Peter  now  opened  the 
door  and  listened. 

He  could  not  hear  a  sound. 

"I  must  take  the  chance,"  said  he,  under  his  breath. 
"I  have  risked  so  much  and  been  successful,  perhaps 
fate  will  see  me  through.  Aha!  who  would  think 
Peter  would  do  so  bold  a  deed?  But  I  have  been 
driven  to  it.  Now  to  get  her  away;  I  am  not  strong 
like  Walter,  but  I  have  endurance/' 

He  took  her  up  in  his  arms,  and,  having  disposed 
her  over  his  shoulder,  he  crept  warily  from  the  room. 

It  needed  no  one  to  tell  him  the  risk  he  ran  if  he 
should  be  caught. 


A  Bold  Deed.  275 

He  was  sure  if  either  Walter  or  Howard  were  to 
catch  him  in  the  act  of  abducting  Viola  his  life  would 
hardly  be  worth  a  moment's  purchase. 

But  Howard  and  his  mother  were  engaged  in  the 
former's  room,  and  Walter  was  impatiently  waiting  for 
the  return  of  his  hostess. 

If  he  had  but  known  that  the  faint  noise  he  heard 
in  the  hall  wras  the  miscreant  who  had  attempted  his 
murder,  now  stealing  away  with  the  treasure  of  his 
heart. 

But  Peter  passed  the  door  and  was  down  the  stairs 
in  so  short  a  space  of  time  that  Walter  forgot  in  a 
moment  that  he  had  heard  the  noise. 

Peter  closed  the  front  door  after  him  softly,  and 
then,  with  a  freer  heart,  glided  as  rapidly  as  his  bur- 
den would  allow  down  the  path  and  out  into  the  road. 

The  weather  was  sharp  and  cold,  and  Viola  was  illy 
prepared  for  it,  but  she  was  unconscious,  and  Peter 
thought  of  nothing  but  safety. 

He  had  not  even  determined  where  he  would  take 
her.  It  had  flashed  into  his  brain  that,  rather  than 
surrender  her  to  Walter,  he  would  throw  her  over  the 
very  cliff  which  he  had  selected  for  our  hero. 

But  he  was  not  disposed  to  lose  her,  after  having 
taken  such  pains  to  find  and  possess  her.  So,  as  he 
sped  along  the  road,  he  cudgeled  his  brains,  and  at 
last  uttered  a  low  cry  of  triumph. 


276  A  Bold  Deed. 

"There  is hQ  tetter  plaice.    If  I  but'Hact  a  Ahorse!" 
As  he  spoke  a  short  laugh  escaped  him,  and  he  mut- 
tered : 

"Why  not?  Perhaps  it  will  never  be  found  out.  I 
will  try  it  With  a 'horse  and  carriage,  and  that  house 
to  hide  tier  in,  I  may  defy  pursuit  until  I  have  made 
myself  secure.  Now,  the  time  is  coming  when  the 
paper  given  me  by  Silas  Hardman  will  protect  me.  He 
thought  I  wanted  it  only  as  a  security  for  the  share  in 
business.  He  will  learn  that  Peter  Harriem  can  make 
more  than  one  use  of  a  document  like  that/' 

He  exerted  himself  to  move  at  a  greater  speed  now,, 
and,  after  having  gone  along  the  road  to  the  station 
for  a  short  distance,  turned  aside  and  took  a  road 
which  would  lead  him  to  the  village,  not  more  than  half 
a  mile  distant  from  that  point. 

He  reached  the  village,  panting  and  almost  ready  to 
drop,  but,  after  a  moment's  rest  in  the  shadow  of  a 
building,  he  glided  toward  the  hotel  sheds,  where  a 
number  of  horses  and  .carriages  were  standing,  wait- 
ing for  their  owners  to;comeout. 

He  waited  for  a  few  moments,  to  be~  sure  that  no 
one  was  around  to  see  him,  and  then  stole  into  the 
sheds,  and  as  well  as  he  could  selected  the  best  horse 
and  buggy- 
He  placed  Vi'ola  in  the  carriage/ untied- the  hofse  and 


A  Bold  Deed. 

backed  it  out  \vith  asJittle  noise  as  possible,  muttering 
as  he  did.sp:, 

^If  I  had  not  been  everybody's  drudge  when  I  was 
a  boy,  I  would,  not  have  known  how  to  choose  the 
horse.  He  looks  like  a  good  one." 

As  soon  as  the  animal  was  out,  Peter  leaped  into 
the  carriage  and  clucked  to  the  horse,  which  started 
away  at  a  quick  trot,  as  if  glad  of  the  chance  to  get 
home. 

,5  And  Pet^r,  sp-  far  from  discouraging  the  animal's 
haste,  accelerated  it  by  occasional  strokes  of  the  whip, 
so  that  in  a  little  while  the  road  echoed  with  the  sharp 
beat  of  the  hoofs  on  its  frozen  surface. 

Peter  had  been  in  the  neighborhood  so  many  times 
that  he  knew  the  way  well,  and  needed  only  an  occa- 
sional glance  at  the  roadside  to  enable  him  to  know 
where  he  was. 

He  was  merciless  to  the  poor  horse,  and  flogged  it 
when  it  would  have  been  ready  to  stop. 

But  it  was  a -matter  of  morie  than  life  and  death 
to  him. 

He  was  battling  for  toumph  over  thoise  he  hated,  and 
for  possession  of  her  for  whom  he  felt  a  fierce  pas- 
sion. : 

©la  and  on  the  poor  beast  flew,  until  at  last  Peter 
drew  it  up  with  a  sharp  pull  and  searched  the  objects 
along  the  roax}  for  a  guide  to  his  whereabouts. 


278  A  Bold  Deed. 

"This  is  the  place/'  he  cried  exultantly. 

He  climbed  out,  lifted  Viola  out,  and  then  turned 
the  horse's  head  in  the  direction  whence  it  had  come, 
and  with  a  sharp  slap  on  the  loins  started  it  on  its 
homeward  journey. 

"I  call  that  a  brilliant  performance/'  he  chuckled. 
"No  one  will  be  able  to  trace  me.  Aha!  Peter  Har- 
riem  deserves  to  succeed.  Now  for  the  house.  I 
reckon  there  are  nothing  but  ghosts  there  to  disturb 
me,  and  I  am  not  afraid  of  them.  They  don't  scare 
me." 

He  had  placed  Viola,  still  unconscious,  on  the 
ground.  He  now  took  her  up  and  carried  her  swiftly 
through  a  tangled  path,  at  the  end  of  which  a  dark 
mass  loomed  up. 

"What  a  place  a  haunted  house  is  for  hiding  a  treas* 
ure!"  he  murmured,  as  he  neared  it.  "I  only  hope  no 
one  else  feels  as  I  do  about  it/' 

He  paused  when  he  reached  the  house,  and  looked 
it  over  and  listened.  He  did  not  really  fear  that  any- 
body was  in  it,  but  he  was  naturally  cautious. 

"How  they  will  storm  when  they  discover  that  both 
birds  have  flown !"  he  laughed,  as  he  opened  the  door 
of  the  house  and  entered.  "You  have  been  here  before, 
my  dear,"  he  muttered,  as  he  groped  along  the  hall, 
"and  I  know  there  is  a  nice  little  cell  all  fitted  up  for 
your  use/' 


A  Bold  Deed.  279 

He  had  brought  her  to  the  very  place  from  which 
she  had  escaped  but  a  short  time  before. 

He  took  her  down  the  stairs,  found  his  way  to  the 
cell,  proving  that  it  was  not  his  first  visit  there,  and 
deposited  her  on  the  little  bed,  her  heavy  breathing 
proclaiming  that  she  was  still  under  the 'influence  of 
the  drug. 

He  lighted  a  lamp,  and  when  his  eyes  were  accus- 
tomed to  the  light,  gazed  down  at  his  unconscious 
victim. 

"She  is  lovely  enough  to  risk  a  great  deal  for/'  he 
muttered.  "Ah,  my  beautiful  Viola!  you  shall  never 
leave  here  until  you  have  become  my  wife.  Then  I 
can  claim  a  share  in  the  business  of  Hardman  &  Son, 
and  can  defy  the  world/' 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A     D  E  S  P  A  I  R  I  N  G     M  A  N  . 

For  a  little  while  the  most  intense  and  incoherent 
excitement  prevailed  in  the  Beekman  house. 

Howard  rushed  madly  to  the  wing  where  Viola  had 
lived  in  seclusion,  and  when  tie  discovered  tfiat  she 
really"  was  not  there  tried  vainly  to  conjecture  how  she 
had  been  stolen  away. 

Vv  alter  was  thunderstruck,  and  r^n  from  the  store- 
room to  the  wing,  trying  to  make  out  something  from 
the  appearance  of  the  two  places. 

-Even  Mrs.  Beekman  was  so  unstrung  by  the  occur- 
rence that  for  a  while  she  could  do  nothing  but  wring 
her  hands  and  bemoan  the  occurrence. 

But  she  was  the  first  to  recover  herself,  and  to  cry 
but  to  her  son: 

'"Howard,  the  scoundrel  cannot  have  gone  far  with 
her  for  a  burden.  Run  out  and  see  if  you  cannot  find 
him;  Mr.  Hardrnan,  go  with  him.  While  you  are 
gone  I  will  consider  what  else  can  be  done." 

Her  advice  was  so  manifestly  the  best  under  the 
circumstances,  that  both  men  darted  down  the  stairs 
and  ran  out  of  the  house. 

Howard  hastened  in  one  direction,  and  Walter  in  the 
other;  Both  searched  the  toad  thoroughly. 


A  Despairing  Man.  281 

Walter  took  the  road  to  the  station  as  being  the 
pnly  one  he  was  acquainted  with,  and  followed  it  at 
!a  swift  pace  all  the  way. 

He  saw  nothing  of  the  fugitive,  of  course,  and  was 
assured  at  the  station  that  it  was  impossible  that  any- 
body such  as  he  described  could  have  boarded  the  cars 
on  the  last  train. 

In  despair  Walter  returned  as  quickly  as  he  could  to 
the  house,  after  ascertaining  when  the  next  train  would 
leave  for  the  city. 

In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Beekman  had  gone  carefully 
over  the  house,  using  her  extraordinary  faculty  of  con- 
structive analysis  to  the  best  of  h£r  ability. 

She  studied  the  storeroom  with  careful  scrutiny,  and 
then  examined  the  room  occupied  by  Viola.  She 
jumped  to  no  conclusions,  but  weighed  everything  de- 
liberately. 

Howard  was  the  first  to  return.  His  looks  pro- 
claimed his  failure.  His  mother  placed  her  hand  kindly 
on  his  arm. 

"Do  not  despair,  Howard !"  she.  said.  .."As  sure  as 
there  is  justice  in  heaven,  we  shall  find  her.  I  know 
you  are  being  true  to  yourself,  and  that  is  comfort 
to  me." 

"How  can  you  look  at  me  so  kindly,  mother?"  he 
cried  vehemently.  "How  can  you  speak  a  word  of 
comfprt  to  me?  I  curse  myself. .,  I  see  myself  now  as 


A   Despairing  Man. 

If  i  were  another  being.  How  could  I  have  so  for* 
gotten  my  manhood?" 

"Hush,  Howard !  it  may  be  your  good  fortune  to 
atone  by  finding  her  and  restoring  her  to  her  lover." 

"And  I  will  do  it,  mother,  if  I  can.  I  swear  I  will 
redeem  myself,  if  it  can  be  done,  by  earnest  effort  to 
undo  what  I  am  responsible  for  having  happened." 

Later  Walter,  quite  fagged  out  with  his  rapid  wralk, 
entered  the  house.  When  he  had  had  a  few  minutes' 
rest,  Mrs.  Beekman  said  to  him : 

"Let  me  showr  you  how  it  happened.  It  may  be  that 
the  knowledge  of  how  it  was  done  will  enable  you  to 
find  some  conclusion  that  is  hidden  from  me." 

"How  it  happened!"  Walter  repeated.  "Can  you 
tell  me  that?" 

"I  can  nearly  tell  you.     Come!" 

She  led  him  to  the  storeroom  and  pointed  to  his 
handkerchief,  which  lay  on  the  floor. 

"He  easily  got  rid  of  his  bonds/'  she  said.  "Then 
with  that  screw7  driver,  which  must  have  been  left  in 
here,  he  easily  procured  an  exit.  Come  upstairs !" 

He  followed  her  up  and  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
room,  while  she  pointed  to  the  floor,  and  said : 

"Do  you  see  those  stains?  I  know  by  the  odor  that 
they  were  caused  by  the  spilling  of  a  stupefying  drug. 
So  It  is  certain  that  he  came  up  here  and  summoned 


A  Despairing  Man.  283 

her  to  the  door,  surprised  her  and  drugged  her.  Then 
he  must  have  carried  her  away." 

"Yes,  it  is  quite  clear/'  Walter  said.  "So  it  would 
seem  that  he  was  already  provided  with  the  means  for 
carrying  her  off — the  drug,  I  mean." 

Howard  glanced  at  his  mother  with  a  look  of  misery. 
He  was  quick  enough  to  see  that  the  drug  used  was 
the  one  which  had  helped  his  mother  to  discover  his 
share  in  the  previous  wrongdoing. 

"He  wras  plainly  provided  with  a  drug/'  was  all  she 
said. 

"But  the  real  question  is,"  said  Walter,  in  agony, 
"where  has  he  taken  her  to?  I  shall  not  rest  until  I 
have  rescued  her.  He  is  capable  of  the  worst  acts." 

"I  have  no  means  of  guessing,"  she  replied. 

"I  know  that  they  did  not  go  on  the  last  train,  be- 
cause I  am  sure  it  must  have  passed  before  he  could 
have  reached  the  station,  and  because  the  man  in 
charge  was  certain  that  no  such  person  boarded  the 
train." 

"I  do  not  believe  he  could  have  gone  the  other  way," 
Howard  said.  "I  do  not  think  he  would  have  dared. 
That  road  leads  up  into  the  mountains,  and  is  very 
rough  and  rocky/' 

"And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Beekman,  "he  must  have  gone 
somewhere.  Have  you  any  suggestion,  Mr.  Hard- 
man?'' 


2&4  A  Despairing  Man. 

'Thad  thought  of  going  to  the  city  at  once.  '  I  could 
go  to  my  father  and  tax  him  with  complicity.  He  may 
know  something  that  will  aid  us,  though  I  confess  my 
doubts.  Then  I  would  go  to  Eunice  Carroll,  and  then 
to  Viola's  mother.  Can  you  suggest  anything  else?" 

"1  would  find,  the  detective  who  was  so  kind  to;her, 
and  lay  the  case  before  him.  He  may  be  able  to  help 
you.'" 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  will  do,"  Walter  said;  "though 
I  cannot  bear  to  leave  the  place  where  she  certainly 
must  be." 

''What  do  you  think  of  the  plan,  .Howard?"  asked 
•Mrs.  Beekman  of  her  son,  who  had  stood  by  in  silence. 

*T "--think  the  plan  is  a  good  one,"  he  answered. 
"Some  one  should  go  to  the  city  and  make  inquiries. 
The  only  suggestion  I  would  make  is  that  Mr.  Hard- 
man  go  first,  and  perhaps  only  to  the  detective.  Miss 
Carroll  would  hardly  be  persuaded  to  tell  him  any- 
thing if  she  knew  it;  and  to  go  to  Mrs.  Redmond  would 
only  alarm  her." 

"I  will  accept  your  suggestion,  at  least  so  far  as  to 
go  first  to  the  detective  and  take  his  advice." 

"In  the  meantime,"-  said  *  Howard,  "I  will  continue 
my  search  <p  here  in  the  hope  of  finding  her." 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  he  will  .get  her  to  the  city  as 
soon  a£  possible,"  ;Mrs/ Beekman  said. 

-"Mr.  Hardman  can  work  to  good  advantage  there/' 


A  Despairing  Man.  285 

JJoward  said;  "and  I  can  do  better  than  any  one  else 
up  here.  I  am  going  out  again  at  once/' 

He  donned  his  hat  and  coat,  and  was  going  out, 
when  Walter  advanced  toward  him  and  held  out  his 
hand,  saying : 

"I  can  never  thank  you  sufficiently  for  your  good 
offices,  Mr.  Reekman/' 

"Thank  me  when  I  have  returned  Viola  to  you," 
Howard  said,  with  his  emotion  betraying  itself  on  his 
face. 

He  went  out,  and  Walter  followed  not  long  after, 
and  Mrs,  Beekman  was  left  alone. 

"Howard  will  retrieve  himself/"  she  murmured,  "It 
is  a  terrible  madness  that  was  upon  him.  I  feel  sure 
by  the  expression  of  his  face  that  he  has  "a  fixed  idea 
in  going  out  again." 

Yes,  Howard  had  a  fixed  idea,  but  it  was  riot  of 
very  great  value  so  far  as  he  could  see.  It  had  merely 
occurred  to  him  that  it  would  have  been  possible  for 
Peter  to  take  the  road  to  the  village,  and  thus  escape 
Walter's  pursuit. 

He  had  simply  determined  to  follow  down  that  road 
until  he  came  to  the  village  and  there  inquire  for  such 
a  stranger. 

He  had  not  the  keen  intuition  of  his  mother,  or  the 
fiery  energy  of  Walter,  but  he  was  animated  now  by  a 
fierce,  dogged  detcnniu-.iti'on  to  run  down  the  man  who 


286  A  Despairing  Man. 

had  so  nearly  made  a  murderer  of  him,  and  who  at  the 
last  had  duped  him  and  stolen  away  Viola. 

So  he  kept  right  on  to  the  village  without  seeing 
anybody  to  ask  any  questions  of,  and  without  seeing 
anything  to  give  him  a  certainty  that  Peter  had  come 
that  way. 

As  he  passed  the  hotel  with  the  intention  of  con- 
tinuing on  down  until  he  met  somebody,  he  noticed 
a  commotion  in  the  horse  sheds. 

He  stopped,  wondering  if  he  should  go  over  and 
inquire  of  anybody  there,  though  doubtful  of  obtaining 
any  information  from  a  hotel  crowd  on  a  winter's 
night. 

"I  tell  ye,"  he  heard  a  shrill,  angry  voice  say,  "I  tied 
him  right  here.  I  guess  I  know  what  I'm  talkin'  'bout. 
'Tain't  likely  I  walked  down  here  and  then  thought  I'd 
rid  down.  My  new  buggy,  too." 

"Better  get  out  an  alarm  right  off/'  said  one  of  the 
bystanders. 

"What  is  the  matter?''  he  asked. 

The  lights  of  numerous  lanterns  were  flashed  on  his 
face,  and  several  voices  exclaimed : 

"It's  Mr.  Beekman!" 

"Somebody's  took  Si  Walton's  horse  an'  buggy/5 
volunteered  some  person  in  the  crowd. 

"When?"  demanded  Howard  quickly. 

"Must  V  took  it  within  half  an  hour,  anyjiow/'  the 


A  Despairing  Man.  287 

victim  said  angrily.  "I  hain't  been  in  thar  more'n  that 
time,  hev  I,  Rube?" 

"No,  ye  hain't/'  was  the  response. 

"Is  there  no  way  of  determining  which  way  the 
wagon  went?"  Howard  asked. 

"Waal,"  said  one  wiseacre,  "he  must  'a'  gone  either 
ii]}  or  down  when  he  left  here,  for  ther'  ain't  only  them 
two  ways  to  go." 

"Are  you  not  going  to  do  anything  about  it?"  How- 
ard asked  sharply.  "It  seems  to  me  that  every  man 
who  owns  a  horse  should  do  something  right  away." 

"True  for  you,  Mr.  Beekman!"  cried  a  voice. 

"What  do  you  say,"  Howard  went  on,  "if  those  of 
us  who  are  here  make  a  search  party?  The  fellow 
cannot  have  gone  far,  and,  if  we  go  over  every  road 
leading  out  of  here,  we  are  sure  to  hear  something  of 
him." 

"Oh,  let's  wait  till  morning,"  grumbled  one. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Howard  peremptorily.  "Who  will 
set  out  on  the  search?  I,  for  one,  will  take  my  share 
of  the  trouble." 

A  number  of  others  joined  them  rather  for  the  fun 
and  excitement  of  the  affair  than  for  anything  else,  and 
within  a  short  time  seven  carriages  were  filled  and  had 
set  out. 

Howard  took  his  place  in  a  buggy  with  the  owner  of 
the  stolen  horse. 


288  A  Despairing  Man. 

"We  ought  to  find  that  horse  and  buggy,"  he  saiu. 

They  followed  along  the  road  selected  for  them,  and 
were  gone  for  over  an  hour  before  they  could  persuade 
themselves  to  give  up  the  chase  until  morning. 

"Say,  Mr.  Beekman,"  said  the  man  suddenly,  "I've 
got  an  idee." 

"Well?" 

"I  say  we  go  to  my  house  an'  see  if  the  blamed  crit- 
ter has  gone  thar.  If  she  has,  you  kin  bet  yer  pile  thet 
my  wife  is  mournin'  me  a  deacl-and-gone  sinner." 

They  drove  to  the  house  and  went  out  to  the  stable. 
With  its  head  against  the  stable  door  the  patient  horse 
stood.  Everything  was  in  good  order  excepting  that 
the  reins  had  dragged  and  been  broken. 

"Great  Jehosophat?"  exclaimed  the  farmer;  "I'll  bet 
a  dollar  I  fergot  to  tie  the  critter." 

Howard's  heart  sunk.  He  had  been  sure  that  he  was" 
on  the  trail  of  the  abductor  of  Viola. 

"But  look  what  a  lather  she's  in  !>J  the  farmer  wtrit 
•-  on.  "It  jest  don't  seem  as  if  she'd  got  that  way  comin' 
home ;  especially  as  there  ain't  nothiir  broke  to  show 
she'd  been  tearhr  along." 

He  was  holding  the  lantern  up,  looking  the  horse 
and  wagon  over  critically,  when  something  white  in 
the  bottom  of  the  buggy  attracted  Howard's  attention, 
and  he  picked  it  up. 

It    was    a    soft,    white    handkerchief.      His    heart 


A  Despairing  Man,  289 

throbbed  violently.  He  thrust  the  handkerchief  into 
his  pocket  and  waited  until  the  man  went  into  the  stable 
to  see  that  the  stall  was  all  right.  Then  he  snatched 
the  handkerchief  out  and  took  it  over  to  the  light  on 
the  buggy  he  had  been  riding  in. 

"V.  R.",  were,  the  letters  embroidered  in  one  corner. 
It  was  the  handkerchief  .of  Viola. 

She  had  been  taken  somewhere  in  that  carriage. 
Oh,  if, the  horse  could  only  speak! 

"Merciful  Heaven!"  cried  Howard  suddenly ;  "what 
If  it  should  be  the  same  house!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE     NEED     FOR     CAUTION. 

"Have  you  a  revolver  in  the  house?"  Howard  de- 
manded of  the  man  who  had  come  out  of  the  stable. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  was  the  response.  "My  wife  is  so 
Yrnal  feared  on  'em  thet  she  won't  let  me  hev  one  in 
the  house.  I've  told  her  many's  the  time " 

Howard  cared  nothing  for  what  the  man  had  said 
to  his  wife  on  the  subject,  so  he  unceremoniously  said: 

"'Well,  I  fancy  I  can  be  of  no  more  use  to  you,  so  I 
will  go  back  and  give  up  the  horse  to  the  person  who 
loaned  it  to  us." 

"Much  obleeged  to  you,  Mr.  Beekman,"  said  the 
man.  "I  take  it  right  kind  on  ye  to  ha'  been  so  in- 
terested." 

"That  is  all  right.    Good  night." 

Howard  was  out  of  the  yard  while  the  man  was  still 
talking  about  something  remotely  connected  with  horse 
stealing. 

He  drove  through  the  village  and  said-  that  the  miss- 
ing horse  had  been  found;  then  drove  home  and  had 
one  of  the  stablemen  take  the  horse  back  to  its  owner. 

Then  he  ordered  a.  horse  hitched  to  a  carriage  for  his 


The  Need  for  Laution.  291 

immediate  use,  and  went  in  to  his  mother,  who  was 
waiting  up  for  him. 

He  told  her  everything  that  had  happened,  and 
showed  her  the  handkerchief.  He  asked  for  her  opin- 
ion and  advice. 

'There  is  no  doubt,"  she  said,  "that  the  wretch  car- 
ried Viola  off  in  that  buggy,  and  then  set  the  horse  face 
homeward  and  let  it  go." 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  of  it,"  Howrard  answered. 

"Then,"  said  his  mother,  with  an  air  of  decision,  "it 
only  remains  for.  us  to  scour  the  country  and  find  her. 
Howard  you  must  find  her.  If  you  do  this — if  you  can 
return  her  to  Walter  this  time — it  will  be  an  atonement 
for  some  part  of  the  past." 

"That  is  the  one  thing  I  am  striving  for,  mother/' 
he  answered,  in  a  low  tone.  "If  I  can  do  anything 
that  will  relieve  me  of  the  terrible  feeling  of  shame  and 
remorse,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad." 

''Then  set  parties  out  in  pursuit.  Give  a  description 
of  her,  and  offer  a  large  reward  to  the  successful  per- 
son/' Mrs.  Beekman  said  energetically. 

"But,  mother,  I  have  reason  to  believe  I  know  the 
house  she  has  been  taken  to,"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment;  then  her  quick 
brain  solved  the  riddle. 

"You  think  it  is  the  same  place  she  was  confined  in 


'..'2f;?  The  Need  for  Caution. 

j  before,  when  she  believed  herself  in  prison  &>  That  js 
probable.     And  you  know  the  house?** 

"Yes,  I  have  been  there  :  I  would  have  .gone  there 
the  instant  I  thought  of  it,  but  I  felt  that  I  ought  to 
take  a  revolver.  He  is  likely  to  be  a  desperate  man, 

1  vou  know/' 

!  J  •    ' -  '*'.-'•',::'  •''....  .' 

"Yes,  he  will  be  desperate.  Well,  get  the  revolver; 
and  while  you  are  getting  it  I  will  order  a  horse  and 
carriage  for  you," 

"I  have  done  that  already/'  he  said. 

When  he  returned  downstairs,  ready  to  go,  he  was 
surprised  to  see  his  mother  dressed  as  if  to  go  out. 

"Whfefe  are  you  going;  mother?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  going  with  you,  Howard,  If  Viola  is  where 
you  think,  it  will  be  better  for  me  to  be  with  you,  for 
she  will  not  feel  well  after  taking  that  drug.  She 
will  be  glad  to  see  me." 

Howard  paused  as  he  was  moving  toward  the  door 
and  went  back  to  his  mother. 

He  laid  his  hand,  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  while  his  >  voice  trembled  with 
emotion,  "yon  surely  dq  not  mistrust  me?  You  do  not 
doubt  that  I  will  be  true  and  honorable  now  ?" 

."Oh,  no,  Howard!"  she  answered  quickly.  "I.-.. know 
that  you. are  your  old  self  now,  and  that  .you  will -treat 
.Viola  as  if  she  were  your  *  r.  I  mean  .only  what 


The  Need  for  Caution.  2^3. 

I  fsay;  I' '"Vvill  go  with  yoti  for  Viola's  sake.  Do  you 
not  believe  me?" 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  murmured : 

"I  do  believe  you,  mother.  I  have  no  right  to  be 
sensitive;  but  I  am  trying  so  Hard  to  atone." 

"And  you  will  atone,  Howard,"  she  said,  pressing  a 
kiss  lij£>6n  his  brow.  "Come  let  us  go.  Something  tells 
me  that  we  shall  have  good  news  for  Walter  when  he 
comes  again." 

The  servants  were  informed  of  their  departure  and 
Howard  assisted  his  motffer  to  enter  the  carriage. 

"We  may  be  a  little  crowded,"  he  said,  "but  she  wilt 
not  mind  that.  Oh,  if  we  can  only  find  her!" 

"We  shall  find  her,  Howard ;  I  know  we  shall.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  he  has  taken  shelter  in  the  bouse; 
it. would  be  almost  the  only  thing  he  could  do.  You 
see,  he  probably  does  not  know  many  places  in  the 
country.  It  was  shrewd  of  you  to  think  of  it,  How- 
ard." 

The  horse  was  a  good  one  and  carried  them  over 
the  frozen  roads  as  quickly  as  it  was  .safe  to  go. 

Howard  remembered  ivell  where  the  house  was.  He 
recalled  with  shame  how  he  had  played  his  wicked  part 
that  day  in  the  deception  of  poor  Viola. 

"There  is  the  house,  mother," Ahe  said  at  last,  point- 
the  indistinct  shape  to  her.  "I  willleaiVe  yov 


294  The  Need  for  Caution. 

here,  so  as  not  to  arouse  suspicion  of  the  scoundrel  if 
he  really  be  here." 

"Be  cautious,  Howard,"  she  murmured.  "Do  not 
risk  your  own  life,  nor  take  his  except  in  self-defense/' 

Howard  set  his  lips  in  a  hard  line,  but  answered ; 

"I  will  be  careful,  mother/' 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

LOOKING     LIKE     DEATH. 

Words  cannot  describe  the  frame  of  mind  in  whichi 
Walter  went  to  New  York.  His  heart  was  filled  with 
rage  and  despair. 

He  was  turning  his  back  on  the  place  where  Viola 
had  been  stolen  from  under  his  very  eyes,  and  yet  lie 
knew  that  he  was  doing  what  was  best. 

He  believed  that  a  solution  of  the  mystery  that  had. 
surrounded  her  was  to  be  found  in  New  York  better 
than  anywhere  else,  and  so  he  went  there,  but  he  went 
mourning.. 

Before  leaving  the  Beekmans,  he  had  procured  the 
address  of  the  detective  who  had  befriended  Viola,  and, 
late  as  it  was  when  he  reached  the  city,  he  went  thither 
at  once. 

The  detective  was  in  bed,  but  he  came  downstairs 
when  told  that  Mr.  Walter  Hardman  wished  to  see 
him. 

"I  owe  you  an  apology,  I  know/'  Walter  began,  <lfor 
rousing  you  at  this  time  of  night,  but  I  am  in  terrible 
distress,  and  it  seems  as  if  no  one  could  assist  me  as 
well  as  you,  I  wish  to  employ  you,  and  will  pay  you 
anythiflg  for  your  services." 


296  Looking  Like  Death, 

"Why  do  you  come  to  me?"  asked  the  detective,  as 
it7  he  had  no  suspicion  of  the  reason. 

"Because  I  know  that  you  once  befriended  my  be- 
trothed wife,  when  she  was  foully  accused -aft  a  crime 
of  which  she  was  not  guilty.     It  is  in  relation  to  Viola 
f  Redmond  that^I  come  to  you  now/' 

"I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you/-  the  detective  said 
quickly.  "Tell  me  everything  you  know  about  her, 
I  have  been  unable  to  do  anything  about  it  for  a 
[variety  of  reasons,  but  I  have  not  failed  to  think  of  "her 
and  to  stand  ready  at  any  time  to  assist  her.  Besides, 
I  J  Have  done  something,  too." 

r  Walter  started  in  at 'the  beginning  and  told  the  de- 
tccl-iv-e  everything  he  liad  learned  from  every  source. 

The  detective  listened  to  the  end,  only  interrupting 
to  ask  a  question  now. and  then. 

j  '  Wheti  Walter  had  finished  he  said  in  his  quick,  de- 
jcisive  way: 

I  'Watt  here  until  I  have  finished  dressing  properly, 
and  we  will  go  out  together.  I  see  a  chance  to  end 
this  affair." 

As  soon  as  he  was  ready  he  and  Waltpr  left  the 
house.     The  latter  inquired : 
"Where  are  we  going  now?" 

"To  search  the  rooms  of  Peter  Harriem.     I  have 
I  kept  a  watch- on  him.  and  h  ^:e  had  a-proceeding  of  this 


Looking-  Like   Death.  :#// 

sort  in  view.     I  have  no  .warrant  for  the  .search-,,  but  a 
detective  must  take  risks  to  accomplish  his  ends." 

There  was  no  one  on  watch  at  the  house  where 
Peter's  economy  had  led  him  to  live,  so  that  the  detec- 
tive had  no  difficulty  in  forcing  the  door  leading  into 
his  room. 

"Rather  a  burglarious  proceeding/'  he  laughed,  as 
the  d6or  gave  way;  "but  I  think  it  necessary/' 

He  closed  the  door  after  him  and  lighted  a  lamp 
which  stood  on  the  table  in  the  room. 

Walter  was  now  amazed  to  see  with  what  swiftness 
the  detective  prosecuted  his  task  of  searching  the  place. 

He  did  not  even  know  what  the  object  of  the  search 
was. 

Presently  the  detective  unearthed  a  pocketbool^ 
which  he  took  to  the  light  and  opened,  uttering  an  ex 
clamation  as  he  did  so. 

"We  will  find  what  we  are  after  in  here  if  any- 
where," he  said  to  Walter. 

"What  do  you  seek?"  Walter  asked. 

"I  am  looking  for  the  address  of  some  house  out 
of  the  city,  and  up  in  that  neighborhood,"  he  answered. 

Walter  was  mystified. 

'••Why  do  you  look  for  such  a  thing?"  he  asked. 

" Because  it  is  plain  that  there  is  some  place  up  in 
that  neighborhood;  which  has  been  used  by  these  scours 


Looking  Like  Death. 

drels  for  their  pretended  prison,  for,  of  course,  there 
\vas  no  real  arrest,  no  real  prison/' 

"And  you  think-—      ''  began  Walter. 

"I  think  that  if  there  is  such  a  place*tliis  fellow  will 
have  something  to  tell  him  where  it  is.     Another  man 
would  carry  the  fact  in  his  head,  but  this  is  one  of  ; 
sly  ones  who  is  always  trying  to  incriminate  others. 
Ten  to  one  he  has  the  address  or  description  in  the 
writing  of  some  one  else.     There!'''   he  cried  trr 
phantly,  as  he  unfolded  a  slip  of  paper  and  glanced 
over  it.     "Just  look  at  that !" 

Walter  read  it  eagerly. 

It  was  the  description  of  a  house,  and  he  could  sec! 
that  it  must  be  somewhere  near  where  the  Beekmans 
lived. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  the  writing?''  the  dele- 
asked,  his  eyes  meanwhile  running  over  another  < 
of  paper  which  he  had  taken  from  the  pocketbook. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Walter  to  think  of  examining 
the  handwriting.     He  did  so  now;  at  first  doubtfully, 
.  and  at  last  with  horror  in  his  expression. 

"it  is  the  writing  of  Eunice  Carroll,  I  believe." 

The  detective  coolly  took  it  from  Walter  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket,  saying : 

"I  did  not  know  her  handwriting,  but  I  would  have 
sworn  it  was  hers.  I  do  not  believe  she  will  give  us  any 
trouble,  but  the  paper  will  be  useful  in  some  other  way, 


Looking  Like  Death.  299 

maybe.  Mr.  Harriem  did  us  a  service  in  preserving  it, 
to  say  nothing  of  this  other  document/' 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Walter. 

"It  does  not  matter  now"  the  detective  answered. 
"If  necessary  I  will  show  it  to  you.  The  question  now 
is  to  get  up  to  the  house  described  in  this  address.  Are 
you  prepared  to  go?" 

"I  am,"  answered  Walter.  "I  cannot  rest  until  I 
have  rescued  my  darling  from  the  clutches  of  that 
scoundrel.  He  would  not  hesitate  to  murder  her  if 
he  could  not  bend  her  to  his  will ;  and  I  know  he  will 
never  succeed  in  doing  that." 

"Well,  he  isn't  likely  to  attempt  it  to-night,  anyhow/' 
said  the  detective,  who  had  the  faculty  of  seeming  to  be 
perfectly  sure  of  everything  he  said. 

It  gave  Walter  a  feeling  of  confidence  in  him,  and 
rendered  it  possible  for  him  to  preserve  some  outward 
show  of  composure. 

By  going  into  a  hotel  the  detective  was  enabled  to 
get  a  time-table  and  learn  about  the  trains. 

"There  is  a  late  express,  which  stops  at  the  station 
farther  on,"  he  said.  "It  would  do  just  as  well  for 
us.  We  can  get  a  conveyance  and  reach  the  house 
from  there  as  well  as  from  the  other  station." 

"What  if  she  should  not  be  there?"  Walter  said. 

The  detective  smiled  as  if  there  was  no  manner  o£ 
doubt  in  his  mind  as  to  that. 


3OO  J.ook'ing  Like   Death, 

"She  will  be  there,"  he  said;  and  he  was  as  satisfied 
of  that  as  if  he  had  seen  her  at  that  moment. 

Yes,  she  was  there,  indeed;  but,  although  there  were 
signs  of  life  within  her  breast,  she  remained  fast  locked 
in  the  slumber  induced  by  the  treacherous  drug. 

After  placing  her  on  the  cot  and  throwing  something 
over  her  to  keep  her  warm,  Peter  stood  for  a  while 
gloating  over  her  beauty. 

"Mine -or  nobody's,"  he  muttered.  "Oh,  how  beau- 
tiful r 

He  took  up  the  little  hand  and  held  it  in  his  great, 
bony  claw  for  a  moment,  then  bent  over  her  to  ascer- 

:  : 

tain  how  much  under  the  influence  of -the  drug  she  was. 

"I  hope  I  did  not  give  her  too  much/"  he  murmured. 
^'And  yet  I  would  rather  see  her  lying  there  dead  than 
his  bride." 

He  tried  tc  revive  her  by  gently  shaking  her,  and  by 
slapping  her  hands  as  he  had  heard  was  done.  But  the 
stupor  could  not  be  dispelled  in  that  way. 

'"I  will  leave  her  for  a  while/'  he  said  uneasily.  "I 
will  go  upstairs  and  make  a  fire.  I  know  there  were 
the  materials  thjefe.  It  won't  cost  me  anything,  and 
I  always  believe  in  being  comfortable  when  some  one 
else  pays  for  it/1 

He  chuckled  in  his  hideous  way  and  went  upstairs, 
where  he  lighted  a  fire  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  its 
warmth. 


Looking*  Like  Death.  301 

"No  one  will  think  of  looking  for  ij<>  here/'  he  mut- 
tered. "If. I  could  only  frighten  her  into  becoming  my 
wife,  Then  I  could  return  to  the  city  and  defy  them 
all.  That  paper  of  agreement  with  the  old  man  would 
save  me  from  Walter,  I  fancy.  Even  .Walter  would 
-not  do  anything  to  rnix  his  father  up  in  the  -attempt  at 
murder." 

He  crouched  over  the  fire  and  rubbed  his  hands  in  a 
way  that  was  uncanny  to  see. 

'Sneaking  Peter  they  call  me  at  the  store;  and  they 
think  I  do  not  know  it  As  il,I  have  not  put  down 
the  name  of  every  one  who  has  jeered  me,  behind  my 
back..  Some  day  I  shall  p$y  each  one  for  his  insolence. 
Sneaking  Peter  I  may  be,  I  know  I  am  a  very  sly 
Peter.  Very  sly  and  cunning.  Too  cunning  for  most 
people, 

"Look  at  this,  now!  They  thought  they  had  me  safe 
under  lock  and  key  and  quite  beaten.  But  I  escape'! 
and  carried  away  their  treasure.  Aha!  they  reckon 
without  their  host  when  they  leave  me  out  of  then* 
calculations.  I  have  her  in  my  power,  and  L  will  keep 

her,  or — or —  Well,  there  is  no  use  in  settling  that 

yet  At  any  rate,  he  shall  never  fold  her  in  his  arms 
and  call  her  wife. 

"I  shall  aee  to  that.  She  shall  be  mine,  or  no  one's. 
I  loved  lier  first,  and  I  deserve  her.  What  it  oh-:  did 
love  him!  She  will  be  better  off  with  me  than  v/ith 


302  Looking  Like  Death. 

such  a  spendthrift.  And  some  day  I  shall  be  worth 
more  than  any  of  them.  I  wonder  if  she  is  reviving?'* 

He  got  up  as  he  spoke  and  went  down  to  the  little 
room,  where  she  lay  in  a  slumber  so  quiet  and  still  as 
to  be  awesome. 

"It  looks  so  horribly  like  death/'  he  muttered.  "I 
would  not  like  to  look  at  her  if  I  had  done  it." 

He  tried  to  rouse  her  again,  and  when  he  failed  in 
every  measure  he  tried,  he  would  have  been  alarmed 
but  for  the  fact  that  her  breathing  was  strong  and 
regular,  if  a  little  heavy. 

"If  he  had  given  a  little  more  of  the  stuff  to  Wal- 
ter," he  snarled,  "nothing  of  this  need  have  happened. 
He  was  afraid  to  do  it  and  Walter  recovered  from  the 
dose.'' 

He  went  upstairs  again  and  crouched  once  more 
over  the  fire,  listening  now  and  again  with  startled  gaze 
as  the  sudden  scampering  of  rats  in  the  empty  rooms 
roused  him. 

And  by  and  by  his  eyes  closed,  and  he  fell  into  a 
fitful,  disturbed  slumber  in  which  he  alternately  fought 
like  a  cornered  brute  with  his  pursuers,  and  sneered 
at  them. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

IN    A    TERRIBLE    RAGE. 

Mrs.  Beekman  listened  to  the  footfall  of  her  son 
tin  til  it  was  lost,  and  then  waited  for  some  sound  to 
tell  her  that  he  had  acted. 

Presently  he  returned,  and  in  a  \vhispertold  her  that 
he  had  contrived  to  peer  through  the  shutters  of  one 
of  the  rooms,  and  had  seen  Peter  sitting  over  the  lire. 

A  glad  cry  escaped  from  his  mother's  lips  as  she 
listened,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  Fate  had  led  her  son 
there,  that  he  might  purge  himself  of  the  sin  he  had 
been  guilty  of. 

"Howard/'  she  said,  "you  must  tie  the  horse  and 
let  me  get  out.  I  may  be  able  to  suggest  something 
that  will  help  you." 

"That  is  why  I  came  back,  mother/'  he  said. 

So  he  tied  the  horse  to  a  tree  and  saw  that  it  was 
well  covered  with  the  blanket,  then,  accompanied  by  his 
mother,  stole  up  to  the  house  again. 

He  led  her  to  where  Peter  could  be  seen,  and  she 
looked  for  a  long  time  before  she  drew  back,  and  whis- 
pered : 

'"Howard,  he  is  asleep.  Let  us  steal  around  to  the 
back  door  and  see  if  we  cannot  open  it  softly.  If  we 
Could  only  surprise  him  it  would  be  a  triuwaph  for  us." 


304  In  a  Terrible  Rage. 

.Howard  was- naturally  doubtful  of  his-  abilities  as  & 
house  breaker,  but  the  plan  was  too  sensible  not  to 
,be  tried. 

So  they  went  around  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
easily  found  the  door  that  led  into  the  lower  floor. 

"I  have  nothing  to  force  it  open  with'/'  Howard 
said  dubiotrsiy. 

Mrs.  Beekman  tried  the  knob  softly. 

"You  need  nothing,"  she  said,  with  a  low  laugh, 
"it  is  open.!'  .  , 

The  door  was  indeed  open,  and  the  two  stole  quietly 
in.  They  closed  the  door  after  -them, -and  groped  their 
way  along  the  hall. 

Howard  did  not  dare  strike  a  match,  lest  in  doing  so 
he  should  give  the. alarm  to  Peter.  Fortunately  it  was 
not  needed.  They  found  the  staircase  and  crept  up. 

In  after  days,.  M:rs.  Beekman  laughed  at  herself  in 
the  role  of  burglar,  but  at  the  time  it  was  a  most  excit- 
ing adventure. 

When  the  stairs  creaked  under  their  weight,  they 
stopped  and  held, their  breath  while  they  listened. 

But  Peter  was  sound  asleep,  dreaming  of  his  flight 
and  fight  with  countless  pursuers,:  who  were:  hemming 
him  in  on  every  side. 

Howard  led  the  way,  and  when  he  reached  the  uppe: 
hall  stopped  and  caught  his  mother  by  the  sleeve. 

He  did  not  dare  utter  a  word,  but  he  pointed  towaro 


In  a  Terrible  Rage.  305 

a  light  which  came  under  the; door  of  the  roqm  Peter 
sat  in. 

Softly,  and  with  infinite  care,  they  crept  to  the 
door ;  and  when  there  Howard  stooped  arid  looked 
through  the  keyhole:  His  mother  followed  him  in  this, 
,and  then  whispered : 

"Rush  in  suddenly,  and  grasp  him.  Give  me  your 
pistol,  already  cocked,  and  I  will  threaten  him  with  it 
if  he  resists." 

Howard  knew  he  would  have  no  trouble  in  master- 
ing Eeter  if  once  he  had  him  in  his  grasp;  so  he  com- 
plied with  his  mother's  wish,  and  gave  her  the  revolver. 

Then  he  softly  turned  the  knob,  and  when  he  found 
the  door  yield  he  threw  it  open,  and  with  a  bound 
had  the  arms  of  the  sleeping  man  pinioned  behind  him, 

Peter  awoke  with  a  horrible  cry.  Somehow  the  cap- 
ture of  him  made  a  part  of  his  dream,  and  he  waked 
from  a  nightmare  of ;  terror. 

He  was  in  full  possession  of  his  senses  immediately, 
and  after  a  fierce  but  ineffectual  struggle  gave  up  sul- 
lenly, and  twisted  about  until  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Howard's  face. 

When  he  saw  who  his  captor  was,  he  gave  vent  to  a 
laugh,  as  if  he  was  no  longer  concerned. 

"Oh!  it's  you,  is  it?''  he  said.  "Well,  you  might 
as  well  let  me  go.  I  suppose  you  are  not  going  to  make 
a  fool  of  yourself,  are  you?" 


306  In  a  Terrible  Rage. 

Mrs.  Beeknian  stepped  forward  into  view  before 
Howard  had  framed  an  answer,  and  Peter's  face 
dropped  at  sight  of  her. 

"Base  wretch!"  she  exclaimed  indignantly,  "you  may 
be  sure  he  is  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of  himself.  And 
you  shall  pay  the  penalty  of  your  misdoing." 

"My  misdoing!"  he  repeated,  recovering  himself. 
"What  have  I  done  that  your  aristocratic  son  has  not 
been  a  partner  in?  Beware  what  you  do,  or  he  shall 
share  my  punishment/' 

"Hold  him  until  I  have  procured  a  strap  from  the 
buggy,  Howard.  We  will  bind  him  securely  this 
time." 

She  hastened  away,  and  Peter  hissed  quickly : 

"If  you  know  when  you  are  well  off,  Howard  Beek- 
nian, you  will  let  me  go  before  she  returns.  Your 
fate  is  mixed  up  with  mine." 

"I  would  not  let  you  go/'  Howard  answered,  "if  I 
knew  I  would  hang  within  the  hour.  I  have  acted  the 
villain  far  too  long.  This  shall  be  my  atonement/' 

"You  canting  fool!"  raged  Peter. 

But  he  could  not  move  Howard  by  either  prayers 
or  threats,  and  it  was  not  many  minutes  ere  he  was 
securely  bound  and  lying  on  the  sofa  which  formed  a 
part  of  the  furniture  of  the  room. 

"Now  let  us  find  Viola,"  Mrs,  Beekmaii  said. 


In  a  Terrible  Rage.  507 

She  took  the  lamp  and  searched  the  rooms  on  that 
floor. 

Then  she  went  below  at  the  suggestion  of  Howard, 
and  it  was  but  a  few  minutes  ere  they  opened  the  door 
of  Viola's  prison  and  looked  upon  her  as  she  lay  in  a 
stupor  on  the  cot. 

Mrs.  Beekman  looked  terrified  for  a  moment,  then 
ran  to  Viola's  side  and  bent  anxiously  over  her- 

"Can  she  be  aroused,  mother?"  Howard  asked. 

"Yes,  she  is  safe,"  she  replied.  "'But  lift  her  and 
carry  her  upstairs  by  the  fire.  But,  hark !  what  is  that 
noise?" 

"It  is  I,  Mrs.  Beekman!''  cried  a  voice,  which  both 
recognized  as  belonging  to  Walter. 

"Just  in  time,  then,"  answered  the  good  lady.  "We 
have  secured  the  scoundrel,  and  were  just  about  to 
carry  his  victim  upstairs." 

Almost  before  she  had  finished,  Walter  had  leaped 
into  the  room  and  had  fallen  on  his  knees  by  the  side 
of  his  darling,  raining  kisses  on  her  face. 

"Oh,  my  love — my  love !  Can  she  not  be  aroused  ?" 
he  demanded. 

"Not  until  we  have  her  at  home/1  Mrs.  Beekman 
answered;  "but  she  is  in  no  danger." 

"Let  us  hasten,  then  P  Walter  cried,  as  he  took  the 
beloved  form  in  his  strong  arms  and  bore  her  up  the 
stairs. 


3f>8  In  l&  Rage, 


:..  Mrs,-  Beekman,  who  carried  the lamp,  I.  ••  - 

into  the  room  where  Peter  lay  bound,  followed  by  the 
whole  party,  the  detective,  in  his  silent  way,  bringing 
up-  the  rear.  : 

"Caught  at  last  like. a.  rat  in  a  trap,  eh?"  he  said 
^nnily,  as  hi's  eyes  fell  on- the  bound- form  of  the  scoun- 
, 

Peter's  eye* were  -fix-eel  on  the  picture  of  Walter  with 
Viola  in  his  ?arins.  That  sight  more  than  anything  else 
seemed1,  to  m^ke  him  feel  that  he  had -been  thoroughly 
defeated. .  •  ,. 

A  horrible  rage  took  possession  of  him,  and  :with  a 
hideous,  snakelike  wriggle  he  contrived  to  squirm/ to 

"You  can't  touch  me  without  hurtjng  others  f"  he. 
screamed,  "And  she  is  mine..  L  loved  her  first.  Yoti 
shall  never— nev- Ah,  what  is, this?" 

He  reeled  as  he -spoke  and  fell  back  ward,  on  the  soia. 
The  detective  sprang  to  him. and  lifted  him  to  place  him 
on  the  sofa,  so  that  he  would  lie  , at  length. 

"Dead!"  he  said,  in  a  shocked  tone. 

"It  must  have  been  his  heart/'  whispered  Mrs.  Seek- 
man,  in  an-ctived  tone.  "Pray  i*emove  the  bonds  '.frmii 
his  limbs."  . 

"All  of  you  go>"  the  detective  said.  ""I  will  remain, 
here  until  morning.  I  am  an  officer  of  the  laA^  xand 
he  is  my.. prisoner,  .  .There  is,,  no  need  for  any  qf  ;ypu 


In  a  Terrible  Rage.  309 

fe  be  mixed  up.:in  this.  All  of  you  go.  I  will  Attend 
tc'  everything:'"' 

'•••••Ai  nis  mother's-  suggestion  Howard  ran  out  and' 
brought  in- a  carriage  rug  to  wrap  Viola  in;  and  then  he 
Volunteered  to  take  Walter's  carriage  back  to  its  stable 
while  Walter  took  Mrs.  Beekman  and  Viola  home. 

Walter  was  more  grateful  than  he  could  express  for 
all  their  kindness,  but  did  not  hesitate  tb  accept  How- 
ard's offer, 

It  was  just  -before  dawn  when  they  reached  Mrs. 
B«kman's  house.  Viola  was  carried  to  the  good  lady's 
v,  •!  rn 

"'"We  will  let  -her  sleep  till  daylight/'  Mrs.  Beekman 
said  to  Walter.  "It  will  be  better  for  her  now  if  the 
drugi  will  wear  itself  off  naturally.'' 

So  Walter  gently  kissed  the -lips  of  his  darling,  and 
retired  to  the  room  they  gave  him,  .and  iri  spite  of  his* 
anxiety  was  so  worn  out  that  he  fell  asleep  and  did 
not  awake  until  4he"  felt  Howard's'  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

He  started  up 'and  looked  at  the  other;. and  his!  first 
quick  word  was : 

•"Viola !" 

"She  is  awake 'and  quite  well," -Howard  answered. 
"Mother  has  told  her  you  are  here,  and  she  is  eager 
to  see  ydtr." 

With  a  giad  cry  Walter  sprang  out  of  bed,  every 
-'of  fatigae.  gone.     In  a  tiaarvetously  .short,  time 


310  In  a  Terrible  Rage. 

he  rejoined  Howard,  who  was  waiting  in  the  hall  to 
conduct  him  to  the  sitting  room,  where  Viola  awaited 
him. 

The  young  girl  rose  as  she  heard  his  step  on  the 
stairs,  and  was  halfway  across  the  room  to  meet  him 
when  he  entered. 

''My  dear  love!"  he  murmured,  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy, 
and  folded  her  in  his  arms. 

Mrs,  Beekman  stole  out  of  the  room  and  closed  the 
door,  so  that  the  long-parted  lovers  might  have  all 
the  bliss  of  being  alone  in  the  first  moments  of  their 
transports. 

"Never  to  part  again,  dear,"  was  one  of  the  things 
Walter  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"But  your  father,  Walter?"  she  queried,  fixing  her 
brown  eyes  on  his  face. 

"My  father  shall  have  nothing  to  say  about  it,  Viola, 
my  love.  Never  again  shall  any  one  decide  the  ques- 
tion of  our  love  for  us.  We  love  and  must  wed." 

She  could  not  combat  him  when  he  spoke  in  that  de- 
cided way.  It  was  so  sweet  to  have  one  so  strong  and 
masterful  to  cling  to. 

"Will  you  leave  everything  to  me,  dear?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  everything,"  she  murmured. 

'Then  we  will  be  married  this  afternoon,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE     SILVER     LINING. 

When  the  subject  of  the  marriage  was  broached  i6 
Mrs.  Beekman  by  Walter,  she  listened  to  his  argu- 
ments, and  then  agreed  that  it  would  be  justifiable 
under  the  circumstances. 

"Viola's  mother  cannot  be  present,  for  which  I  am 
sorry/"  she  said,  **but  I  will  be  the  best  substitute  I  -can. 
I  think  that,  after  all  Viola  has  undergone,  it  is  in 
every  way  best  that  she  should  become  your  wife  at 
once." 

So  everything  was  arranged  for  the  afternoon,  and 
they  were  all  pleased  when  Mr.  Phil  Dexter,  tire  de- 
tective, put  in  an  appearance. 

He  added  his  commendation  to  the  others  when  he 
learned  what  was  going  to  be  done.  He  explained  to 
Mrs.  Beekman  that  there  would  be  no  notoriety  at- 
tached to  any  of  them  in  connection  with  the  death  of 
Peter  Harriem. 

*'I  took  it  all  on  myself,"  he  said,  "and  the  coroner 
will  see  that  there  is  no  fuss  made." 

It  was  a  very  happy  wedding  if  not  a  large  or 
fashionable  one,  and  there  was  a  merry  wedding  SUJH 
per  after  it. 


-The  Silver  Linin. 


. 


r  supper  the  newly  wedded  pair  was  t6  start  on 
a  -short  bridal  trip;  after  which  Walter  proposed  to 
•;return  to  the  city. 

Phil  Dexter  listened  to  his  plans  with  a  quiet  smile 
on  his  sphinx-like  face,  and  when  there  was  an  oppor- 
tunity, drew  Walter  aside  and  said  to  him: 

"I  suppose  you  have  plenty  of  money  ?" 
,  ..Walter  thought  at  once  of  his  promise  to  pay  the 
detective  his  own  price/and  answered  quickly  : 

"I  have  a  few  thousand  dollars.  I  will  pay  you 
whenever  you  let  me;  know  how  much  I  owe  you// 

"Oh,"  said  Phil,  uthat  can  wait  well  enough.  What 
I  was  wondering  was  if  you  had  enough  to  be  inde- 
pendent of  your  father." 

"I  intend  to  find  something  to  do.  I  suppose  he  will 
tiot  like  this  act  of  mine,  and  T  don't  intend  to  ask  any 
favors  of  him;  he  has  not  -acted  rightly  toward  tiiy 
wife."-  : 

"Non-sense!"  said  the  detective.  "He  is  your  father 
and  is  very  fond  of  you.  Will  you  give  me  permission 
to  handle  the  affair  in  my  own  way?" 

"I  won't  have  anything  done  that  savors  of  humbling 
myself  or  wife  for  his  favor,"  Walter  answered 
proudly. 

"All  right,"  laughed  the  detective;  "I  guess  there 
won't  be  any  proposition  of  that-sort." 

Walter  had  not  much  hope  that  the  detective  would 


The  Silver  Lining.  -  jf  3 

the.  handling  of  'hk^at-her  an-  easy;  task/  but  his 
%heartyy'as.  light,  and  he  dfcove  from  the  House''  when 
the  time  came,  with  a  smile  on  his  face  and  the  little 
Khand  he  loved  held  tight  in  his,  ' 

Phil  Dexter  watched  the  carriage  until  it  washout 
of  sight;  then  turned  to  Mrs.  Beelcman,  with  a  shake 
of  his  head. 

"Love  is  a  beautiful  thing,  Mrs,  Beekmati,  but  it  will 
be  none  the  less  attractive  for  a  little  gold  to  gild  it 


-Do  you,  really  hope,  to  w-in  the  father's  entire  for- 
giveness ?":  she  asked  • 

:.".!  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  -it/'  he  replied, 
with  a  grim  smile.  ; 

.     /Twishy.you  luck-  for  their  sakes>"  :she  said. 

"Thank  you;  and,  now;  with  your  permission,  I  will 
catch  my  train  and  return«to  the  'city."- 

Silas  Hardman  knew  nothing  of  the  wedding  of  his 

son  to  the  salesgirl,  against  whom  he  had  permitted 

::his  confidential  man  to  plot,  but  he  -was  in  a  very  bad 

humor  because  that  confidential  man  was  not  there  that 

morning. 

It  had  been  clearly  understood  between  them  rfiat 
Peter  was  to  have  his  own  time  in  working  out  his 
scheme,  but  he  had.  never  taken  so  much  time  away 
before,  and  it  vexed  Mr.  Hardman. 

For  one  thing,  it.  -gave  him  a  great  deal  of  extra 


3 14  Tl~-t  Silv-er  L 

work  to  do,  and  perhaps  made  him  realize  either 

he  was  growing  too  old  for  so  much  work,  or  that 

Peter  had  always  greatly  relieved  him. 

The  truth  was  tnat  Peter  had  made  it  his  business  to 
shoulder  as  much  as  possible  of  the  work  that  Mr. 
Hardnian  would  naturally  do. 

This  was  the  way  he  had  taken  to  make  hi] 
accessary. 

"Ccn found  the  fellow !"  grumbled  Mr.  Hardmaii. 
*T  wish  I  had  never  entered  into  the  agreement  with 
him.  "Well,  what  do  you  want?" 

One  of  the  subordinate  clerks  had  thrust  his  head 
doubtfully  throxtgh  the  half-opened  doorway. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

"Has  Mr.  Harriem  come  yet?"  snarled  Mr.  Hard- 
man. 

"No,  sir." 

"Who  is  the  gentleman?    What  does  he  warn:  ' 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

'"Show  him  in,  idiot!" 

Tt  was  a  very  ungracious  way  of  treating  the  c 
but  the  clerks  of  Hardnian  &  Son  were  accustome 
being  treated  so. 

"Well,  sir?"  inquired  Mr.  Hardman,  as  a  quiet 
stranger  was  ushered  in. 

"I  came  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "about  & 
matter  in  which  your  son  is  concerned/5 


The  Silver  Lining. 

"Your  name,  please?"  said  Mr.  Hardman. 

"Philip  Dexter.  I  am  a  detective,  and  was  employed 
to  arrest  a  young  lady  who  was  accused  of  theft, 

and " 

'Ah !  and  let  her  escape/'  said  Mr.  Hardman  icily. 

"Yes;  I  told  her  I  knew  she  was  innocent  and  that 
she  had  better  run  away  until  I  should  have  time  to 
investigate  the  matter  and  clear  her/' 

"Indeed,  sir!  and  have  you  done  so?"  demanded  Mr. 
Hardman. 

"Yes,"  replied  Phil  Dexter  dryly,  "I  have  clone  so. 
The  young  lady  did  not  steal  the  ring.  It  was  placed 
in  her  pocket  as  the  result  of  a  conspiracy  between  Miss 
Eunice  Carroll,  Mr.  Peter  Harriem,  and  one  other  gen- 
tleman, who  was  foolish  enough  to  write  and  sign  a 
paper  which  clearly  mixes  him  up  in  the  matter." 

Mr.  Hardman  rose  to  his  feet,  his  face  white  and 
set. 

"How  dare  you,  sir!"  he  began. 

Phil  Dexter  held  up  his  hand  deprecatingly,  and 
drew  a  piece  of  paper  from  his  pocket. 

"I  have  the  paper  right  here." 

Mr.  Hardman  sunk  back  in  his  chair.  For  the  first 
time  he  realized  what  he  had  risked. 

"I  had  no  part  in " 

"My  dear  sir,"  interrupted  the  detective,  "I  know 


3*6  The  "Silve^ Linihg. 

all  about  it.  At  any  rate,  I  know 'that' you  had  no  part 
in  the  attempt  on  the  life  of  your  sori'.'j 

"Life  of  rny  son !"  .gasped  the  old  man,  all  the  blood 
leaving  his  face. 

^Yes,"  said  the  detective;  "Peter  Harriem  loved  the 
girl  who  had  become  your  son's  betrothed  wife,  and, 
finding  no  other  way  good  enough,  tried  to  murder 
Walter  Hardman." 

"Impossible!    You  are  mad'    My  son  is  in  Europe/' 

"On  the  contrary,  he  is  in- this  country.  He  learned 
of  the  persecution  to  which  Viola  Redmond  was  being 
subjected,  and  he  came  over  here  at  once." 

*'And  .now  where  is .  h^??> 

"On  his  way  west,  I  believe.  But  Peter  Harriem  is 
dead.  He  died  of  heart  disease." 

"Dead !" 

"Yes ;  he  died  after  being  foiled  in  a  foul  plot  to  ab- 
duct,-the  young  lady,  who  is  now  your  son's  wife/' .. 

"His- wife!  he  has  married  her?'' 

"Yes,  he  has  married  her ;  and  if  you  were  to  seek  the 
world  over  you  tould  not  find  a  better  or  more  beauti- 
ful girl/' 

"You  see$i  to  be  interested,"  said  Mr?  Hamlman,    . 

"Yes,"  replied  the 'detective,  "I  am  interested.  Your 
son.  said  he  would  not  ask  you  for  any  assistance,  and 
I  thought -that  -was  fight.  At the-sarhe  timi -Irhalve 


The  Silver  Lining,  ,317 

come  to  say  to  yoti  that  I  thuik;  you  ought  to  treat 
you  r  son  as  such  a  son  should  be  treated. " 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  old  man  ironically.  "I 
think  I  know  ftow  and  what  to  do.  I  wish  you  a 
good  day." 

''Certainly.     And  this  little  piece  of  paper?     Shall 
I  put  it  wjUh  another  piece  I  have  in  Miss  Carroll's 
writing  and  give  them   to  a  lawyer  ?" 
"Do  you  threaten  me  by  my  son's  wish?"  exclaimed 
Silas  Hardman. 

"Your  son,  as  yet,  knows  nothing  of  this  piece  of 
>paper,"  said  the  detective. 

"Give  me  the  paper/'  said  the  old  man  eagerly. 
"Give  it  to  me,  and  I. promise  you  my  son  shall  have 
atl:  his  heart  could  wish." 

Without  hesitation  the  deteetive  handed  the  paper 
to  the  :old  man  and  , bowed  himself  out. 

When  Walter  and  his  bride  returned  >  to  the  city 
there  was  a  beautifully  furnished  house  waiting  for 
them.  And  the  time  came  when  Sifas  Hardman  won- 
dered at  two  things:  How  he  had  ever  conducted  his 
business  without  Walter,  and  how  he  could  ever  have 
wished  for  any  other  daughter-in-law. 

TIJE  END. 

No.  1138,  of  the  NEW  EAGLE  SERIES,  entitled  "My 
Own  Sweetheart,"  by  Wenona  Gilman,  is  an  in- 
tensely interesting  romance,  in  which  love  and  money 
run  a  race,  and  the  reader  will  be  kept  guessing 
for  .a  long  time  as  to  which  .will  win. 


Splendid  Romances  of  American  Life 

NEW  SOUTHWORTH  LIBRARY 

Complete  Works  of  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N. 
Southworth 

Price,  Fifteen  Cents 


There  is  hardly  a  reader  in  America  who  lias  not  read  this 
author's  "Ishmael"  and  "Self-Raised."  They  are  classics  of  the 
people,  and  no  author  of  popular  fiction  has  ever  been  more 
justly  praised,  nor  held  a  more  secure  position  in  the  hearts  of 
American  readers  than  Mrs.  Southworth. 

After  the  two  books  just  mentioned,  her  "Hidden  Hand"  is 
best  known,  but  in  addition  to  these  books  there  are  dozens  of 
others  which  are  known  the  world  over. 

AH  of  Mrs.  Southworth's  work  is  strong  in  plot,  and  her  char- 
acter drawing  is  worthy  of  a  Dickens,  or  a  Thackeray,  or  a  Poe. 
This  Hne  contains  all  Mrs.  Southworth's  copyrighted  books,  and 
is  the  only  authorized  edition  of  her  work. 

ALL  TITLES  ALWAYS  IN  PRINT 


I— Ishmael    By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

2—Self-Raised    ,By  Mrs.  £.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  'Tshmael" 

3— Em    By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

4— Em's  Courtship  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Em" 
5— Em's    Husband     By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Em's  Courtship" 

6-The  Bride's  Ordeal By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N,  Southworth 

7— Her  Love  or  Her  Life?. By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Soutkworih 

Sequel  to  "The  Bride's  Ordeal" 


NEW  S'OUTHWORTH  LIBRARY. 


Sr-Erma,  the  Wanderer   . . .  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Her  Love  or  Her  Life?" 

9— Gloria By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

10 — David   Lindsay By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E,  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Gloria" 
ii— A  Love  Lost  and  Won... By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "David  Lindsay" 

12— The  Trail  of  the  Serpent,  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
13— A.  Tortured    Heart By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "The  Trail  of  the  Serpent" 
14— The  Test  of  Love By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to   "A  Tortured  Heart" 
IS— Love's  Suspense    By  Mrs.  E.  D.  K  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "The  Test  of  Love" 
16— A  Deed  Without  a  Name, 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southwortfc 
17 — Dorothy  Harcourr/s  Secret, 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel   to   "A  Deed  Without  a   Name" 
i&— To  His   Fate   By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Dorothy  Harcourt's  Secret'* 
19— When  Love  Gets  Justice,  By  Mrs.E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "To  His  Fate" 

20 — For  Woman's  Love  .....  By  Mrs*  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
21 — An  Unrequited  Love    ...  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to   "For  Woman's  Love" 

22— A  Leap  in  the  Dark By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

23 — The   Mysterious   Marriage, 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "A  Leap  in  the  Dark" 

24— Her  Mother's  Secret  ....By  Mrs.  K  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
25— Love's   Bitterest   Cup    . .  .By  Mrs.  E.  D_  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Her  Mother's  Secret" 
2&-When  Shadows  Die By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to   "Love's   Bitterest  Cup" 
27 — Sweet  Love's  Atonement, 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
28 — Zenobia's  Suitors    By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel   to  "Sweet  Love's   Atonement/" 

29— The  Unloved  Wife   By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  JST.  Southworth 

30— When  the  Shadow  Darkens, 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "The  Unloved  Wife" 
31— Lilith By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "When,  the  Shadow  Darkens" 

32— Only  a  Girl's   Heart By  Mrs.  E.  D.  H  H.  Southworth 

33— Gertrude's    Sacrifice    By  Mrs.  K  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel   to    "Only  a   Girl's    Heart" 
34— The  Rejected  Bride    ....By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Gertrude's   Sacrifice" 

3Q 


NEW  SOUTHWORTH  LIBRARY. 


35— A    Husband V  Devotion.. By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to "TOe  Rejected  Bride" 
36 — Gertrude    Haddon    .. By. Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel   to   "A   Husband's   Devotion" 
37 — Reunited By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Gertrude  Haddon" 

38— Why  Did  He  Wed  Her?. By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
39-For  Whose  Sake?   ......By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Why  Did  He  Wed  Her?" 
40— The  Rector's  Daughter.. By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "For  Whose  Sake?" 

41— A  Skeleton  in  the  Closet: By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
42 — Brandon  Coyle's  Wife... By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "A  Skeleton  in  the  Closet" 
43 — When  Love's  Shadows  Flee, 

Sequel  to  "Brandon  Coyle's  Wife" 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
44— The    Changed    Brides.... By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Or  "Winning  Her  Way" 
45— The    Bjride's   Fate    By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "The  Changed  Brides" 

46— The  Lost  Lady  of  Lone. By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
47— The  Struggle  of  a  Soul. By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "The  Lost  Lady  of  Lone" 
48— Cruel  as  the  Grave. ....  .By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Or  "The  Halloween  Mystery" 
49— Tried  for  Her  Life  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "Cruel  as  the  Grave" 
50 — The   Lost   Heir   of   Linlithgow, 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E,  N.  Southworth 
51— A    Noble    Lord    By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "The  Lost  Heir  of  Linlithgow'1 

52— A  Beautiful  Fiend  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

53— Victor's  Triumph   By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "A  Beautiful  Fiend !" 

54 — Nearest  and  Dearest  ....  By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 
55 — Little  Nea's  Engagement, 

Sequel  to  "Nearest  and  Dearest" 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

56— Unknown     By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

57— The  Mystery  of  Raven  Rocks, 
Sequel  to  "Unknown" 

By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

58— The    Hidden    Hand By :  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

apitola's    Peril    By  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth 

Sequel  to  "The  Hidden  Hand" 


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